1890] DERBYSHIRE HUNTING SONG. 167 



DERBYSHIRE HUNTING SONG. 

 By F. Cotton. 



Eh, surrey, oin bin 'untin', lad, boy Goy, bur it were grand, 

 Oi rode owd Smoiler oop and daown till a could 'ardly stand ; 



Eh ! the closes as wa'an bin in and the pleezes wa'an joomped o'er ; 

 Oi tell yer what it is, moy lad, oi canna joomp no more. 



Chorus — Oi tell yer what it is, moy lad, oi canna joomp no more, 



Meynill's 'ounds they met at Radbourne 'AH, wheer Squoire Pole 

 resides. 



There were lots o' victuals theer fur all and lots fur t'drink besoides, 

 And a many o' the gentlefolk got off and went insoide. 



And 'ad a soop o' summat short, joost fur ter mak' um roide. 



Eh dear, theer wor a many folk, oi ne'er saad sooch a soight, 

 Theer wur lots o' chaps we' red coots on, and breeches whoite as 

 whoite; 



Yer known that good owd seyin as foine f ethers meks foine birds ; 

 Oi tell yer what it is, moy lad, theer's wisdom i' them words. 



Wa trotted off to th' Birch wood which a many calls the Rough, 

 Wa worena theer thril minutes when wa fund one sur enough ; 



The fost-whip made a nation' noise joost loike as a wur mad, 

 A yelled and 'ollered out so laoud, oi thowt a wor took bad. 



Oi follers tou thre gents i' red, sez oi, " Oi mun be roight, 

 Oi canna ba so fur beoind if oi kaaps thase i' soight ; " 



Bur when it coomed ter joompin', lad, they worner any use. 



They couldna joomp at au, boy Goy, they all med' some hexcuse. 



One ses, "Moy 'oss a wumia joomp;" another sez, "Young mon. 

 Will your 'oss joomp? fur if a will, oi wish as you'd go hon." 



Sez oi, " Oin niver 'oss'd afore, bur louk oup, fur 'ere goos," 



And Smoiler med a rood roight threough and landed on 'is nooze. 



Oi'd loike ter er toombled off, boy Goy, bur someow didna quoite, 

 So oi scrambles back i' th' saddle, and 'oilers out, " Aw roight ! " 



One gent got down and threoo the gap 'is 'oss a gently led ; 

 Oi dunna think so much o' some o' thase 'ere chaps i' red. 



Owd Smoiler canna gallop fast, ix isna mooch fur t'joomp. 



And tow thre toimes a toombled and oi landed wi a boomp ; 



Oi dunna know 'ow many toimes wa joomped, bur twor a lot. 

 And Smoiler got so tired out, a couldna 'ardly trot. 



