The songs of the Wilsons With a memoir of the Family, and several additional songs never before published. Edited by John Harland |
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JOHNNY GREEN'S DESCRIPTION OF TINKER'S GARDENS. |
 | The songs of the Wilsons |  |
JOHNNY GREEN'S DESCRIPTION OF TINKER'S GARDENS.
By Mr Alexander Wilson.
Heigh! Hall o' Nabs, an' Sam, an' Sue,
Why, Jonathan, art tew theer too?
We 're aw aloike, there 's nowght to do,
So bring us a quart before us.
Aw 'r at Tinker's gardens yusternoon,
An' whot aw seed aw 'll tell yo soon,
In a bran new sung, boh it 's to th' owd tune,
Yo 'st ha 't if yo 'll join mea chorus.
Why, Jonathan, art tew theer too?
We 're aw aloike, there 's nowght to do,
So bring us a quart before us.
53
An' whot aw seed aw 'll tell yo soon,
In a bran new sung, boh it 's to th' owd tune,
Yo 'st ha 't if yo 'll join mea chorus.
Aw geet some brass fro' uncle Nat,
Eawr David lant me his best hat,
Then off for th' teawn aw seet full swat,
Mich faster nor Pickfort's waggins;
Aw paid meh brass, an' in aw goes,
An' eh! whot shady beawers i' rows,
Where lots o' ladies an' their beaux
Wurn set to get their baggins.
Eawr David lant me his best hat,
Then off for th' teawn aw seet full swat,
Mich faster nor Pickfort's waggins;
Aw paid meh brass, an' in aw goes,
An' eh! whot shady beawers i' rows,
Where lots o' ladies an' their beaux
Wurn set to get their baggins.
There's bonfeoirs fix'd o' the top o' pows,
To leet yor poipes an' warm yor nose;
Then a thing to tell which way th' wind blows,
An' th' fish pond too did pleas mea:
Boh th' reawnd-heawse is the rummest shop,
It 's fixt on here an' there a prop,
Just loike a great umbrella top,
If it 's not, Jimmy Johnson squeeze mea.
To leet yor poipes an' warm yor nose;
Then a thing to tell which way th' wind blows,
An' th' fish pond too did pleas mea:
Boh th' reawnd-heawse is the rummest shop,
It 's fixt on here an' there a prop,
Just loike a great umbrella top,
If it 's not, Jimmy Johnson squeeze mea.
Aw seed a cage as big, aw 'll swear,
As a wild beast show i' Sawfort fair,
There 's rappits, brids, an' somethings theer,
Aw could na' gawm, by the mass, mon:
Aw thowt o' pullink one chap's wigs,
For tellink me they 'r guineapigs,
Says aw, “Mea lad, aw 'm up to your rigs,
They 'r noan worth hawve o' th' brass, mon.”
As a wild beast show i' Sawfort fair,
There 's rappits, brids, an' somethings theer,
Aw could na' gawm, by the mass, mon:
Aw thowt o' pullink one chap's wigs,
For tellink me they 'r guineapigs,
Says aw, “Mea lad, aw 'm up to your rigs,
They 'r noan worth hawve o' th' brass, mon.”
54
Aw met wi' a wench aw 'd often seen,
When aw wi' mea wark to th' teawn had bin,
Hoo 're drest as foine as ony queen,
So aw just stept up behind hur:
Says aw, “Yung miss, dun yo wark fur Kays'?
Aw wove their crankys scoores o' days;”
Hoo would no' speak, boh walk'd hur ways,
An' hoo 're nowt boh a bobbin woinder.
When aw wi' mea wark to th' teawn had bin,
Hoo 're drest as foine as ony queen,
So aw just stept up behind hur:
Says aw, “Yung miss, dun yo wark fur Kays'?
Aw wove their crankys scoores o' days;”
Hoo would no' speak, boh walk'd hur ways,
An' hoo 're nowt boh a bobbin woinder.
Boh th' band o' music caps owd Nick,
Aw ne'er seed th' loike sin' aw wur wick;
Ther'n drest loike soldiers, thrunk and thick,
As merry as hey-makers.
Up in a tree, foive yard fro' th' greawnd,
On a greyt big table, rail'd aw reawnd,
While lads an' wenches jigg'd to th' seawnd,
“Oh, merrily danced the Quakers.”
Aw ne'er seed th' loike sin' aw wur wick;
Ther'n drest loike soldiers, thrunk and thick,
As merry as hey-makers.
Up in a tree, foive yard fro' th' greawnd,
On a greyt big table, rail'd aw reawnd,
While lads an' wenches jigg'd to th' seawnd,
“Oh, merrily danced the Quakers.”
Then next aw seed a swing, by gad!
Where th' ladies flock'd loike hey-go-mad,
They wanted a roide far wor' than th' lads,
They really did, for sure.
Ther'n one wur drest so noice i' blue,
An' loike an angel up hoo flew,
Hoo 'd nice red cheeks, an' garters too,
So aw thowt aw 'd buck up to hur.
Where th' ladies flock'd loike hey-go-mad,
They wanted a roide far wor' than th' lads,
They really did, for sure.
Ther'n one wur drest so noice i' blue,
An' loike an angel up hoo flew,
Hoo 'd nice red cheeks, an' garters too,
So aw thowt aw 'd buck up to hur.
Aw made hur link wi' mich ado,
An' mounted up a great heigh brow,
Where folk run up, an' deawn it too,
Just loike March hares, for sure.
So when eawr kale coom wa begun,
An' stearted off, 'twur glorious fun!
Mich faster than Cock Robin run,
When he won at Karsy Moor.
An' mounted up a great heigh brow,
Where folk run up, an' deawn it too,
Just loike March hares, for sure.
55
An' stearted off, 'twur glorious fun!
Mich faster than Cock Robin run,
When he won at Karsy Moor.
Whot wark we made aw 'm shawm't to tell,
We tried, boh could no' stop eawrsel,
Till into a beawer yead-first we fell,
Where aw th' foine folk wur set, mon:
Some porter run aw deawn my shirt,
A biscuit stuck to th' lady's skirt,
An' whot wi' th' hurt, an' grease, an' dirt,
By gum, aw feel it yet, mon.
We tried, boh could no' stop eawrsel,
Till into a beawer yead-first we fell,
Where aw th' foine folk wur set, mon:
Some porter run aw deawn my shirt,
A biscuit stuck to th' lady's skirt,
An' whot wi' th' hurt, an' grease, an' dirt,
By gum, aw feel it yet, mon.
Of aw the things that pleast us, John,
Wur Tinker's heawse wi' pot dolls on:
There 's Blucher an' Lord Wellington,
An' Blue Beard look'd so glum, surs;
There 's Cupids under trees and shrubs,
An' men wi' harps, an' some wi' clubs,
An' naked childer up o' tubs,
Don'd eawt i' lots o' plums, surs.
Wur Tinker's heawse wi' pot dolls on:
There 's Blucher an' Lord Wellington,
An' Blue Beard look'd so glum, surs;
There 's Cupids under trees and shrubs,
An' men wi' harps, an' some wi' clubs,
An' naked childer up o' tubs,
Don'd eawt i' lots o' plums, surs.
Reet hungry, aw seet mea deawn at last,
An' swallow'd ale an' cakes so fast,
Aw wonder mea waistcoat did no' brast,
Aw'r full os mea hoide could crom, surs.
When aw wur seen ot could be seen,
They play'd “God save eawr noble Queen;”
Aw strid to th' tune reawnd th' bowling-green,
An' away aw coom streight whoam, surs.
An' swallow'd ale an' cakes so fast,
Aw wonder mea waistcoat did no' brast,
Aw'r full os mea hoide could crom, surs.
When aw wur seen ot could be seen,
They play'd “God save eawr noble Queen;”
Aw strid to th' tune reawnd th' bowling-green,
An' away aw coom streight whoam, surs.
56
It bangs boath play-heawse, fair, an' wakes,
For gam of o' maks, ale, an' cakes,
Aw 'll bet a quart, an' theaw'st howd th' stakes,
It bangs the king's creawnation.
Aw 'd ha' yo t' goo next Monday noon,
For if't rains poikles, [pikels,] late or soon,
Aw 'll goo again if aw goo beawt shoon,
For it 's th' grandest place i' th' nation.
For gam of o' maks, ale, an' cakes,
Aw 'll bet a quart, an' theaw'st howd th' stakes,
It bangs the king's creawnation.
Aw 'd ha' yo t' goo next Monday noon,
For if't rains poikles, [pikels,] late or soon,
Aw 'll goo again if aw goo beawt shoon,
For it 's th' grandest place i' th' nation.
| The songs of the Wilsons | |