Part 3

Oh, soft be his pillow, when he sinks deawn to his rest, That can keep the lamp o’ charity alive in his breast; May pleasant feelin’s haunt him as he’s dozin’ away, An’ angels give him, up aboon, a lift on the way. A lift on the way; A lift on the way; An’ angels give him, up aboon, a lift on the way.

Jog on, my noble comrades, then, an’ so mote it be,— That hond in hond we travel till the day we mun dee; An’ neaw, to end my ditty, lads, let’s heartily pray That heaven may give us ev’ry one a lift on the way. A lift on the way; A lift on the way; That heaven may give us ev’ry one a lift on the way.

TUM RINDLE.

AIR—“_Robin Tamson’s Smithy_.”

Tum Rindle lope fro’ the chimbley nook, As th’ winter sun wur sinkin’; Aw’m tire’t o’ keawrin’ here i’th smooke, An’ wastin’ time i’ thinkin’: It frets my heart, an’ racks my broo— It sets my yed a-stewin’: A mon that wouldn’t dee a foo, Mun up, an’ start a-doin’!

Then, Mally, reitch my Sunday shoon, To rom my bits o’ toes in; An’ hond mo th’ jug, fro’ top o’th oon,— An’ let mo dip my nose in! An’, come, an’ fill it up again; An’ dunnot look so deawldy; There’s nought can lick a marlock, when One’s brains are gettin’ meawldy.

Aw’ll laithe a rook o’ neighbour lads,— Frisky cowts, an’ bowd uns; An’ let ’em bring their mams an’ dads; We’n have it pranked wi’ owd uns? An’ th’ lads an’ lasses they sha’n sing An’ fuut it, leet an’ limber; An’ Robin Lilter, he shall bring His merry bit o’ timber!

An’ Joe shall come, an’ Jone, an’ Ben; An’ poor owd limpin’ ’Lijah; An’ Mall, an’ Sall, an’ Fan, an’ Nan, An’ curly-pated ’Bijah; An’ gentle Charlie shall be theer; An’ little Dick, the ringer; An’ Moston Sam,—aw like to yer A snowy-yedded singer!

Aw’ll poo mi gronny eawt o’th nook, An’ send for Dolly Maybo’, For, when hoo’s gradely donned, hoo’ll look As grand as th’ queen o’ Shayba; An’ little Nell shall doance wi’ me,— Eawr Nelly’s yung an’ bonny; An’ when aw’ve had a doance wi’ thee, Aw’ll caper wi’ my gronny!

Then, Mally, fill it up again; An’ dunnot look so deawldy; There’s nought can lick a marlock, when One’s brains are gettin’ meawldy! We’re yung an’ hearty; dunnot croak Let’s frisk it neaw, or never; So, here’s good luck to country folk An’ country fun, for ever!

MANCHESTER: A. IRELAND AND CO., PRINTERS, PALL MALL COURT.