Part 7 (2/2)

As all th' gla.s.ses wor beginnin to get low, they felt this to be an appeal to ther inmost sowl, soa they all began, perswadin Standhen, an'

after a deeal to do he promised to try. ”Aw know awst braik daan befoor aw start,” he sed. ”Nay, tha'll have to start furst,” sed one, ”but we'll excuse thi if tha does; if tha tries it'll show willin.” After coughin once an' suppin twice, he shut his e'en an' oppened his maath, an' this is what coom aght:--

Thou grand old Church of England!

Though others raise their voice, And try to stain thy spotless name, Thou still shall be my choice; Just as thou art, I love thee thus, And freely I confess, I'd have thee not one jot the more, Nor yet one t.i.ttle less.

Those who would rob thee of thy rights, And urge with specious tongue, That theft by Act of Parliament Can surely not be wrong.

I'd have them leave thy sheltering wing, And nevermore to dare To stand within thy courts of praise, Or taint thy house of prayer.

Oh! dear old Church of England, That points the way to Heaven!

Amid a sad, sad world of sin The truly, only leaven.

We leave thee to our Father's care, Who knows thy needs the best, Convinced that He, by aid of thee, Will leaven all the rest.

When he'd finished they all knocked ther gla.s.ses on th' table bi way ov applaudin, which th' lonlady hearin, at once coom in an' ax'd if they wor ”callin?” an' as all wor empty, shoo luk'd varry hard at th'

cheerman, an' he nodded ”as befoor,” soa shoo gethered up th' empties, an' called for Liza ”to bring in them gla.s.ses,” which wor at once done, an' showd a gooid deal o' foreseet on her part i' havin 'em ready.

When all had getten sarved wi' hot watter, an' given ovver crus.h.i.+n sugar, th' cheerman announced 'at it wor Mr. Standhen's call, soa up jumped Standhen, an' said ”he couldn't do better nor call owd Mosslump for a song.” Some moor applause followed this, but they didn't knock th' tables wi' ther gla.s.ses this time, becoss they wor too full.

Mosslump stood up, wiped his maath wi' th' corners ov his necktie, turned up his e'en as if he wor gooin to depart this life i' peace, an'

in a voice, time, an' manner peculiarly his own he sung--

Mistress Moore is Johnny's wife, An' Johnny is a druffen sot; He spends th' best portion ov his life I'th beershop wi' a pipe an' pot.

At schooil together John an' me Set side by side like trusty chums, An' niver did we disagree Till furst we met sweet Lizzy Lumbs.

At John shoo smiled, An' aw wor riled; Shoo showed shoo loved him moor nor me Her bonny e'en Aw've seldom seen Sin' that sad day shoo slighted me.

Aw've heeard fowk say shoo has to want, For Johnny ofttimes gets o'th spree; He spends his wages in a rant, An' leeaves his wife to pine or dee.

An' monny a time aw've ligged i' bed, An' cursed my fate for bein poor, An' monny a bitter tear aw've shed, When thinkin ov sweet Mistress Moore.

For shoo's mi life Is Johnny's wife, An' tho' to love her isn't reet, What con aw do, When all th' neet throo Aw'm dreeamin ov her e'en soa breet.

Aw'll goa away an' leeave this spot, For fear 'at we should iver meet, For if we did, as sure as shot Awst throw me daan anent her feet.

Aw know shoo'd think aw wor a fooil, To love a woman when shoo's wed, But sin' aw saw her furst at schooil, It's been a wretched life aw've led.

But th' time has come To leeave mi hooam, An' th' sea between us sooin shall roar, Yet still mi heart Will niver part Wi' th' image ov sweet Mistress Moore.

Long befoor he'd done th' chaps had begun tawkin, some abaat politics an some abaat Knursticks, an' when he sat daan th' cheerman wor th' only quiet chap i' th' lot, an' he wor ommost asleep; but Mosslump comforted hissen wi' whisperin to me 'at cla.s.sical mewsic wor varry little thowt on, an' after a sigh, a sup, a shake ov his head, an' another leet for his pipe, he sat daan evidently detarmined not to be suited wi' owt i'

th' singin way that neet. After th' cheerman had wakken'd up, two or three called for ”c.o.c.ky,” an' this time he gate up withaat ony excuses, an' although he did rock backards an' forrads like a clock pendlum th'

wrang end up, yet aw must say he entered life an' soul into what he had to do, an' in a voice 'at seemed three times too big for the size ov his carca.s.s he sang--

Lord John and John Lord were both born on a day, But their fortunes were different quite; Lord John was decked out in most gorgeous array, As soon as he first saw the light.

But poor Johnny Lord, it's true on my word, He'd no clothes to step into at all; He'd no flannel to wrap, he'd no nightgown or cap, But was rolled in his poor mother's shawl.

Now, it seems very strange, yet it's true what I say And I hope you're not doubting my word; And I'll tell what took place in a general way, With Lord John and with poor Johnny Lord

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