 | Poems and Lancashire Songs |  |
297
COME, LIMBER LADS.
I
Come, limber lads, so leet an' gay,Aw'm fain we're wick an' hearty;
To-neet we'n have a haliday—
To-morn we's find it warty:
Like sailors, thrut bith stormy main
Into a nook together—
One hour o' friendly fun, an' then,
Again for wind and weather.
298
II
Owd Time—though, when a mon's i'th dumps,He's seldom in a hurry—
Nips up his shins, an' off he stumps,
The minute one gets merry;
Life's road—though noan as dree as his—
It's harder wark to travel;
One leets o' few sich nooks as this,
An' th' journey ends i' th gravel.
III
Then clink and sing, my lucky lads,An' frisk it while yo're able;
There's cheepin' layrocks round the board,
An' plenty upo' th' table.
Come, crack yo'r jokes, an' let 'em leet,
O' sly deception scornin';
299
An' strike to wark i' th mornin'.
IV
If o' that wanders under th' skyBe grass, that winnot linger,
Let every mortal blade that's dry
Cock up his little finger.
Then, fill for him that's full o' fun—
An' let it be a thumper;
An' th' lad that thinks he's welly done,
We'n rooze him wi' a bumper!
V
An' now, to end this friendly rant,—Turn up yo'r tots to th' ceilin';
Let's hope that he may ne'er feel scant
That's never scant o' feeling!
300
Wi' rosy chens to bind him!
An' th' mon that wants a foo—bith life—
I' th lookin'-glass he'll find him!
| Poems and Lancashire Songs | |