TUM RINDLE.
Air—“Robin Tamson’s Smithy.”
TTum 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, whenOne’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 singAn’ fuut it, leet an’ limber;An’ Robin Lilter, he shall bringHis 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 yerA 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 lookAs 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, whenOne’s brains are gettin’ meawldy!We’re yung an’ hearty; dunnot croakLet’s frisk it neaw, or never;So, here’s good luck to country folkAn’ country fun, for ever!
TTum 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, whenOne’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 singAn’ fuut it, leet an’ limber;An’ Robin Lilter, he shall bringHis 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 yerA 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 lookAs 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, whenOne’s brains are gettin’ meawldy!We’re yung an’ hearty; dunnot croakLet’s frisk it neaw, or never;So, here’s good luck to country folkAn’ country fun, for ever!
TTum 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’!
T
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, whenOne’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 singAn’ fuut it, leet an’ limber;An’ Robin Lilter, he shall bringHis 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 yerA 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 lookAs 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, whenOne’s brains are gettin’ meawldy!We’re yung an’ hearty; dunnot croakLet’s frisk it neaw, or never;So, here’s good luck to country folkAn’ country fun, for ever!
MANCHESTER:A. IRELAND AND CO., PRINTERS,PALL MALL COURT.