Come down to-morrow night; an, mind
Don’t leave thy fiddle-bag behind;
We’ll sheake a lag, an’ drink a cup
O’eale, to keep wold Chris’mas up.
An’ let thy sister teake thy earm,
The walk won’t do her any harm;
There’s noo dirt now to spweil her frock,
The ground’s a-vroze so hard’s a rock.
You won’t meet any stranger’s feace,
But only neighbours o’the pleace,
An’ Stowe, an’ Combe; an’ two or dree
Vrom uncle’s up at Rookery.
An’ thou wu’lt vind a rwosy feace,
An’ peair ov eyes so black as sloos,
The prettiest woones in all the pleace, –
I’m sure I needen tell thee whose.
We got a back-bran, dree girt logs
So much as dree ov us can car;
We’ll put ’em up athirt the dogs,
An meake a vier to the bar.
An’ ev’ry woone shall tell his teale,
An’ ev’ry woone shall zing his zong,
An’ ev’ry woone wull drink his eale
To love an’ frien’ship all night long.
We’ll snap the tongs, we’ll have a ball,
We’ll shake the house, we’ll lift the ruf,
We’ll romp an’ meake the maidens squall,
A’ catchen o’m at blind-man’s buff.
Zoo come to-morrow night; an’ mind,
Don’t leave thy fiddle-bag behind;
We’ll sheake a lag, an’ drink a cup
O’eale, to keep wold Chris’mas up.