Ha weel aw remember that big Christmas puddin,
That puddin mooast famous ov all in a year;
When each lad at th' table mud stuff all he could in,
An ne'er have a word ov refusal to fear.
Ha its raand speckled face, craand wi' sprigs o' green holly
Seem'd sweeatin wi' juices ov currans an plums;
An its fat cheeks made ivvery one laff an feel jolly,
For it seem'd like a meetin ov long parted chums,
That big Christmas pudding,—That rich steamin puddin,—
That scrumptious plum puddin, mi mother had made.
Ther wor father an mother,—awr Hannah an Mary,
Uncle Tom an ont Nancy, an smart cussin Jim;
An Jim's sister Kitty, as sweet as a fairy,—
An Sam wi' his fiddle,—we couldn't spare him.
We'd rooast beef an mutton, a gooise full o' stuffin,
Boil'd turnips an taties, an moor o' sich kind;
An fooamin hooam brewed,—why,—aw think we'd enuff in,
To sail a big ship if we'd been soa inclined.
An then we'd that puddin—That thumpin big puddin—
That rich Christmas puddin, mi mother had made.
Sam sat next to Mary an Jim tuk awr Hannah,
An Kitty ov coorse had to sit next to me,—
An th' stuff wor sooin meltin away in a manner,
'At mi mother declared 't wor a pleasur to see.
They wor nowt could be mended, we sed when it ended,
An all seem'd as happy as happy could be;
An aw've nivver repented, for Kitty consented,
An shoo's still breet an bonny an a gooid wife to me.
An aw think o' that puddin,—That fateful plum puddin,—
That match makkin puddin mi mother had made.