Lyr Add: Warkworth Feast

Subject: Lyr Add: Warkworth Feast
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 19 Jun 04 - 11:50 AM

Warkworth Feast

Tune-"Morpeth Jail"

Sum folks may jaw 'boot a fine breeze,
Praise Warlworth's shores an' hikey seas;
Praise steem-boat trips an' caller air,
Or spend a day devoid o' care.
Then may tell o' wondrous things they see,
Sic as cassels, an' rooins, an' lots o' spree;
'Boot monks an' marmaids dein' queer feats,
An' rabbits dancin' polkas on the Coquet at neets.

But lads, aw've got a different tye,
For aw wonce had a trip doon there me-sel:
'Twas a ruffish morn- the wind nor-east-
Wnen forst aw had a trip te Warkwith Feast.

Abord ov a steamer aw cruiked maw heugh,
An' things at the Kee went square eneuff;
So we got under way' but we haddent gyen far,
When an aud wife cries, "Wor on the Bar!"
"O, marcy me! cries Jimmy Bell,
"Maw belly's sair- aw's quite unwell!"
Then bowkins o' boiley went fleein' aboot,
An' a lump o' chowed tripe catched me reet on the snoot.

So if ye winnit believe maw tyels,
Just tyek a trip doon there yorsells, etc…

Half duzzy aw staggered alang the boat,
When a chep tossed a lump o' fat doon me throat.
Lord! says aw, thou's dyun maw job!
But says he, "Ye fyul, it'sell tyest yor gob!"
Then a' the things aw'd eaten last 'eer,
Fegs, grosers, reed herrins, an' yell, did appear;
Eh, man, hoo aw trimmeled as aw stuck tiv a post,
Goshcab! aw'd dyun fine te play Hamlick's ghost!

So if ye winnit, etc.

Sic rushin', an' crushin', an' cryin' for drops;
Sic rattlin' o' buckets, an' usin' o' mops;
Sic pityful fyeces, an' cries o' distress,
Wi' screamin' an' shootin', an' spoilin' o' dress.
Aw wes creepin' alang as quiet as a moose,
Te try an' find the little hoose;
Aw fell owere two aud wives, an' rolled on the deck,
An' nigh as a tutcher broke maw neck.

So if ye winnit, etc.

At last we landed safe ashore,
Reet glad wes aw wi' monny a score;
But syun maw wonders they increass'd,
When aw see'd three stalls at Warkwith Feast.
Nowt wes there yen's heart te cheer,
But a lot o' awful bitter ber:
'Twad puzzen rats-oh, maw poor tripes!
Aw's sartin 'twad gi'en a brass cuddy the gripes.

So if ye winnit, etc.

Noo, a bit ov advice might be wholesome, I think,
When ye gan plishure trips, tyek yor meat an' yor drink;
For thor's nivvor ne plishure where thor's nowt te eat,
If yor gyepin' at cassels frae morn till neet.
Lifetime's a trip, an' ivvery man
Mun battle throo the best way he can.
So excuse maw sang;if you doot the least,
Ye can get next 'eer te Warkwith Feast.

So if ye winnit etc.

-Corvan