Last night the merry farmers' sons,
Vrom biggest down to leaest, min,
Gi'ed in the work of all their guns,
An' had their sparrow feaest, min.
An' who vor woone good merry soul
Should goo to sheaere their me'th, min,
But Gammon Gay, a chap so droll,
He'd meaeke ye laugh to death, min.
Vor heads o' sparrows they've a-shot
They'll have a prize in cwein, min,
That is, if they can meaeke their scot,
Or else they'll pay a fine, min.
An' all the money they can teaeke
'S a-gather'd up there-right, min,
An' spent in meat an' drink, to meaeke
A supper vor the night, min.
Zoo when they took away the cloth,
In middle of their din, min,
An' cups o' eaele begun to froth,
Below their merry chin, min.
An' when the zong, by turn or chaice,
Went roun' vrom tongue to tongue, min,
Then Gammon pitch'd his merry vaice,
An' here's the zong he zung, min.
Zong.
If you'll but let your clackers rest
Vrom jabberen an' hooten,
I'll teaeke my turn, an' do my best,
To zing o' sparrow shooten.
Since every woone mus' pitch his key,
An' zing a zong, in coo'se, lads,
Why sparrow heads shall be to-day
The heads o' my discoo'se, lads.
We'll zend abroad our viery hail
Till ev'ry foe's a-vled, lads,
An' though the rogues mid all turn tail,
We'll quickly show their head, lads.
In corn, or out on oben ground,
In bush, or up in tree, lads,
If we don't kill em, I'll be bound,
We'll meaeke their veathers vlee, lads.
Zoo let the belted spwortsmen brag
When they've a-won a neaeme, so's,
That they do vind, or they do bag,
Zoo many head o' geaeme, so's;
Vor when our cwein is woonce a-won,
By heads o' sundry sizes,
Why, who can slight what we've a-done?
We've all a-won head prizes.
Then teaeke a drap vor harmless fun,
But not enough to quarrel;
Though where a man do like the gun,
He can't but need the barrel.
O' goodly feaere, avore we'll start,
We'll zit an' teaeke our vill, min;
Our supper-bill can be but short,
'Tis but a sparrow-bill, min.