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19

SALFORD FAIR.

By Mr Michael Wilson.
On Whitsun Monday morn, aw went to Salford fair,
An' ne'er sin aw wur born, did aw see things so rare;
Aw geet me up so soon, an' don'd me eawt so foine,
I' my Sunday hose and shoon, and this new jump o' moine.
Aw skipt o'er loan and stele, an' cawd o' Fiddlin Ben,
He don'd him eawt, i' th' whoile aw wackent Bucksome Nan;
An' hoo cawd Ralph an' Dick, an' they cawd Joe and Sal,
An' they cawd Jack an' Nick, an' they went for Doll an' Nell.
Will Whistle brought a cart, for th' lasses they would roide,
He took um up so smart, an' plac't um soide by soide;
The village bells did ring—to teawn we did repair,
Ben neatly touch'd the string wi' “Jockey to the Fair.”
20

Bedeckt wi' nets an' bells, Rose nodded on her way,
Doll next, an' Punch i' th' thills, wi' fleawry garlands gay;
Yung lambkins play an' skip, the birds harmonious strive,
Will Whistle crackt his whip, an' thus wea did arrive.
Wea gan a leawd huzza, an' then Will Whistle said,
“Aw'll gie mea tits some hay, an' put um i' th' King's Yead:”
So up wea nimbly geet, an' jumpunt on to th' stones,
An' there we happunt t' meet wi Peg o' Dick's o' Jone's.
Wea wurn shakink honds wi Peg, when up coom Milkink Jin,
Oych took a hearty wag, an' then begun fo in;
Wi marchunt on by pairs—Ben nobly led the van,
An' we jumpt up th' King's Yead stairs to th' tune o' “Bob an' Joan.”
Boh sich a devilish yell aw never yeard afore,
The tigers did so bell, an' th' loyans did so roar;
Punch woife his yead did jow, at which he lookt so glum,
They'd foughtun until neaw if Owd Nick had naw coom.
21

Eawr girls had boosom knots, o' yallo, red, an' blue,
An' wea adorn'd eawr hats in the same glorious hue;
Wea doncent thro' the streets, eawr feet scarce touch'd the greawnd,
An' choinged fro' left to reight, to th' tune o' “Cheshire reawnd.”
Then whoam wea took eawr way, led on by Fiddlin Ben,
An' I that vary day wur wed to Buxum Nan;
At neight oycht lad an' lass did swig an' jig away;
Wea wur aw so tyrt, by th' mass, 'ot wea leigh till twelve next day.
 

“When I came to this part of the song,” says Alexander Wilson, “I, with childish simplicity, said, ‘Father, how could they put horses in the king's head?’ ‘Oh, very well,’ said he, ‘because he has no brains in it.’ It will be remembered that George III. was reigning.”

“It will appear singular,” observes Alex. Wilson, “that the conclusion of this song so much resembles that of ‘Johnny Green's Wedding,’ [written by Alex.;] but the fact is, I never was able to obtain the finishing verse of my father's song, and in after-life I composed the finale.”

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