Yorksher Puddin Part 40

tha'll niver be fast for a spot to hing up thi stick. But it's a song we want, an' not a speech, an' if tha doesn't sing tha'll be fined a quairt.'

That settled it; soa, clearin his voice, he began--

Tho' the sober shake the head, And drink water, boys, instead, And the foolish all strong liquors do decry; Yet the foaming gla.s.s for me, May we never, never see A friend without a draught when dry.

Then quaff, boys, quaff, and let's be merry; Why should dull care be crowned a king?

Let us have another drain, till the night begins to wane, And the bonny, bonny morn peeps in.

Let us drown each selfish soul Deep in the flowing bowl; Let the rosy G.o.d of wine take the throne; And he who cannot boast Some good humour in his toast, Let him wander in the world alone.

Then quaff, boys, &c.

O, I love a jolly face, And I love a pretty la.s.s, And I love to see the young and old around; Then with frolic and with fun Let both wine and moments run, And the hearty, hearty laugh resound.

Then quaff, boys, &c.

When man was placed on earth He was naked at his birth, But G.o.d a robe of reason round him threw; First he learned to blow his nose, Then he learned to make his clothes, And then he learned to bake and brew.

Then, quaff, boys, &c.

If it's wrong to press the vine-- Thus to make the rosy wine, Then it must be wrong to crush the wheaten grain; But we'll laugh such things to scorn, And although it's coming morn, Just join me in another drain.

Then quaff, boys, &c.

'E'e gow, lad! that's a rare song. Aw'll say nowt noa moor abaat thy nooas after that, but tha munnot sing that amang teetotallers. It's thy call nah, let's keep it movin, call for who or what tha likes.'

'Well, if awm to call, aw shall call th' landlord to fill this pitcher, for this pipe o' mine's varry dry.'

'All reight, lad, order it to be filled, aw'll pay for it, an wol they're fotchin it call o' somdy for a song or summat.'

'Well, aw call o'th' cheerman for a song.'

'Nay, lad, tha munnot call o' me, for if awd to start ony mak ov mewsic aw should niver get throo it.'

'Yo went throo th' drum easy enuff,' said one.

'Eea, an' he brag'd he could sing better ner awr conductor,' sed another.

'Nah chaps, aw'll do my best to mak it a pleasant neet, an' as th' ale has just come up aw'll give yo a tooast an' a sentiment booath i' one.'

Hold up yer heads, tho' at poor workin men Simple rich ens may laff an' may scorn; May be they ne'er haddled ther riches thersen, Somdy else lived afoor they wor born, As n.o.ble a heart may be fun in a man 'At's a poor fusten coit for his best, An 'at knows he mun work or else he mun clam, As yo'll find i' one mich better drest.

Soa, here's to all th' workers wheariver they be, I'th' land, or i'th' loom, or i'th' saddle; And the dule tak all them 'at wod mak us less free, Or rob us o'th' wages we haddle.

'Them's just my sentiment,' sed one o'th' singers, 'an'

aw dooant care who hears me say it, for aw dooant care whether a chap's coit is aght o'th' elbows or his britches knees brussen, noa matter if he's----'

'Thee shut up,' sed Seth, 'it's my call next, an' aw want thee to know, owd fiddle-face, 'at tha can give ovver talking abaat fowks clooas, an' sing as sooin an tha likes.'

'Mr. Cheerman, aw n.o.bbut know one, but as sooin as aw've supt aw'll start, shove th' ale this rooad.'

'Get supt then, it taks more bother to start thee singin nor what it taks to start th' d.y.k.e Engin.'

All kinds of songs I've heard folks sing, Of things in every nation; Of Queen's Road swells, and Clarehall belles, And every new sensation.

But I've a song you never heard, Although the music's ancient; It's all about one Doctor Bird, And his fascinating patient.

So list to me And I'll tell you all the story of this Doctor B.

One day he sat within his room, By draughts and pills surrounded; Strange pictures hanging on the walls Which timid folks confounded.

He heard the bell, and strange to tell, He quickly changed his manner, And in there came his bosom's flame His darling Mary Hannah.

So list to me, &c.

'Sweet Mary Hannah!' 'Doctor dear'-- Such was their salutation; 'I've come,' sed she, 'for much I fear, I've got the palpitation.'

'O never mind,' says Doctor B., 'You need not long endure it; Just come a little nearer me, I fancy I can cure it.'

But list to me, &c.

He took a loving, long embrace, Cries she, 'Oh, dear, that's shocking!'

When the doctor's boy, to mar their joy, Just entered without knocking.

And when he saw the state o' things, Then down the stairs he hurried, And ran to tell the Doctor's wife,-- For Doctor B. was married.

So list to me, &c.

The Doctor seized his hat and cane, And cried, 'Dear Mary, hook it!'

Then down he ran, and found a cab, And in an instant took it-- 'Drive for your life and fetch my wife, And need no second telling!'

And in a very little time They reached the Doctor's dwelling.

So list to me, &c.

His wife was there, said he, 'My dear Come with me to the city, I'm lonely when you are not near,'

Says she, 'Why that's a pity.'

He took her to the self same room, And in the self same manner; He kissed and coaxed his lawful wife, As he'd just kissed Mary Hannah.

So list to me, &c.

In loving talk some time they spent, Says she, 'now I'll go shopping;'

He kissed her and as out she went, The Doctor's boy came hopping; He saw her and he quickly cried, 'O, please excuse me missus, But Doctor's got a girl inside, And he's smothering her with kisses.

So list to me, &c.

'You little sneaking cur,' she cried, 'That shows that you've been peeping.'

She boxed his ears from side to side And quickly sent him weeping.

The Doctor rubbed his hands and smiled, To think how well he'd plan'd it, And Mrs. B.'s quite reconciled, But the boy don't understand it.

So you all see What a very cunning fellow was this Doctor B.

Now all you married men so gay, Just listen to my moral; Indulge your wives in every way, And thus avoid a quarrel.

Pray do your best to settle down, Nor with the fair ones frisk it; You might not fare like Doctor B., It isn't safe to risk it.

For you can see How very near in trouble was this Doctor B.

'Is that th' only song tha knows young man?'

'That's all aw know, Mr. Cheerman.'

'Why, tak my advice an' forget it as sooin as tha can, for aw niver heeard a war, an' see if tha cannot find a better.

Nah tha can call for th' next.'

'Well, aw'll call o' owd Miles, an' if he con do ony better aw'll pay for th' next gallon.'

Old Miles stood up, an' crossed his hands i' front an turned up his een as if he wor gooin to relate his experience at a prayer-meetin, an' began: