With bousing, and laughing, and smoking, The time slippeth swiftly away; And while they are ranting and joking The church-clock proclaims it mid-day; And now for black-puddings, long measure, They go to TIB TROLLIBAG’S stand, And away bear the glossy rich treasure, With joy, like curl’d bugles in hand.
And now a choice house they agreed on, Not far from the head of the Quay; Where they their black puddings might feed on And spend the remains of the day; Where pipers and fiddlers resorted, To pick up the straggling pence, And where the pit lads often sported Their money at Fiddle and Dance.
BLIND WILLIE[6] the fidler sat scraping, In corner just as they went in: Some Willington callants were shaking Their feet to his musical din: Jack vow’d he would have some fine cap’ring, As soon as their dinner was o’er, With the lassie that wore the white apron, Now reeling about on the floor.
Their hungry stomachs being eased, And gullets well clear’d with a glass, Jack rose from the table and seized The hand of the frolicsome lass. “Ma hinny!” says he, “pray excuse me-- To ask thee to dance I make free.” She reply’d, “I’d be loth to refuse thee! Now fiddler play--“Jigging for me.””
The damsel displays all her graces, The collier exerts all his power, They caper in circling paces, And _set_ at each end of the floor: He jumps, and his heels knack and rattle, At turns of the music so sweet He makes such a thundering brattle, The floor seems afraid of his feet.
This couple being seated, rose Bob up, He wish’d to make one in a jig; But a Wellington lad set his gob up,-- O’er him there should none “_run the rig_.” For now ’twas his turn for a caper, And he would dance first as he’d rose; Bob’s passion beginning to vapour, He twisted his opponent’s nose.
The Willington lads, for their Franky, Jump’d up, to revenge the foul deed; And those in behalf of Bob Cranky Sprung forward--for now there was need. Bob canted the form, with a kevel, As he was exerting his strength; But he got on the lug such a _nevel_, That down he came all his long length.
Tom Brown, from behind the long table, Impatient to join in the fight, Made a spring, some rude foe to disable, For he was a man of some might: Misfortune, alas! was attending, An accident fill’d him with fear; An old rusty nail his flesh rending, Oblig’d him to slink in the rear.