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That tint of ancient phrase and tha naivete, which we have for ever lost, and which we like to recollect once had an existence." Curiosities of Literature. . f LONDON: JOHN RUSSELL SMITH, 4, OLD COMPTON STREET, SOHO SQUARE. MDCCCXXXIX. & ENTERED AT STATIONER'S HALL. JOHN NOAKES AND MARY STYLES, At Tottum's Cock-a-Bevis Hill, A sput suppass'd by few, Where toddlers ollis haut to eye The proper pritty wiew ; Where people crake so ov the place, Leas-ways, so I've hard say ; An' rrum its top yow, sarteny, Can see a monsus way. 'Bout this oad Hill, I warrant ya, Their bog it nuver ceases ; They'd growl shud yow nut own that it Beats Danbury's au'to pieces. But no sense ov a place, some think, Is this here hill so high, — Cos there, full oft, 'tis nation coad, But that don't argufy. Yit, if they their inquirations maake In winter time, some will Condemn that place as no great shakes. Where folks ha' the coad-chill I As sum'dy, 'haps, when nigh the sput, May ha' a wish to see't, — From Mauldon toun to Keldon 'tis, An' 'gin a four releet. Where up the road the load it goos So lugsome an' so stiff, That hosses mosly kitch a whop, Frum drivers in a tiff. But who'd pay a hoss when tugging on ? None but a tetchy elf : 'Tis right on plain etch chap desarves A clumsy thump himself. Haul'd o'er the coals, sich fellars e'er Shud be, by Martin's Act ; But, then, they're rayther muggy oft, So with um we're not zact. But thussins, 'haps, to let urn oaf Is wrong, becos etch carter, If maade to smart, his P's and Q's He'd mine for ever arter. At Cock-a-Bevis Hill, too, the Wiseacres show a tree, Which if yow clamber up, besure, A precious way yow see. I dorn't think I cud clime it now, Aldoe I uster cud ; I shudn't warsley loike to troy, For guelch cum down I shud. My head 'ood swim, — I 'oodn't do' it Nut even for a guinea : A naarbour ax'd me, tother day, " Naa, naa," says I, " nut quinny,' At Cock-a-Bevis Hill, I was A-goon to tell the folks, Some warses back — when I bargun — In peace there lived John Noakes. Ees, John a bee'un foun' upon That cried-up sput, — and I Have hard he there lived under one Who foliar' d husbandry. The cot, a yard it had, in shape A sort ov a three square ;* An' as for weeds or Utters, oh ! Yow nuver saa urn there. No, nut in the time John's dad it hued, Though 'twas to some a puzzle, — 'Cos long 'fore he the buekit kick'd, He e'er was arter guzzle. Had the ol' bouy nut yarn'd a deal, An' fortun met him smilin', — He'd sieh a family, he coon't Ha' brote up the whole biling. Who are in the warld well to do, They onny shud ha' cubs ; Who's nut, lore ! how he's hamper' d up, As through this life he grubs. Youn' John seem'd nut at all to be A chip ov the ol' block : To see some wet their whissles so, It oft gave him a shock. * Who knows ? perhaps, that Solomon the Second, King James, imbibed all his vast mathematical knowledge in the good county of Essex, for, in his celebrated " D-&MONOLOGY," he talks of *' square and triangular circles ! p Through tippling in his manners, John, No hole he'd maade at all — (Some naarbours sed) — sen long afore His dad lay by the wall. No, had yow 'quired his charriter, As people sometimes shud ; Frum those who know'd him, yow'd bin toad 'Twas altogither gud. To doe his jarney at the plough, With boddle an' with bag, Etch moarn he'd sturt some time afore The grass was dry frum dag. He sich a dapster was at plough, Few match' d him nigh or far : Ees, jes to rights, my bouys, John Noakes 5 The thurrars he 'ood draa ! But at all jobs he handy was, He'd sich a knack at wark ; Where'er he sew, or rep, or mew, Yow werry soon cud mark. No aukard, hulking fellar John, He starr'd with nimble pace; Nor yit bad lookin', for he had A chubby, smilin' face. 8 — By gom ! where' s lie who's e'er withstud The foce ov beauty's smiles ? Soon 'twas found out John seem'd to be In loave with Mary Styles. But John long in his eye had had His naarbour Styles' s darter; An' he'd the pluck, at length, to tell His loave, an' har goo arter. Had John bin mealy-mouth' d, 'tis plain, (An' lovers oft are wary), He'd lost his gal, for oat hers had A hank'rin' arter Mary. A werry nice youn' oommun seem'd This Mary Styles to all; An' some — sich eyes an' cheeks she had — Har pritty ust to call. Far frum a slammacks Mary was — No darty trollops she ; But — though no finnicks — clean an' neat Yow ollis har ded see. Sen but a mauther, sarvant she Had bin to Mr. Bright ; One who'd retired frum biznus now, An' meant to live upright. A woundly lamed man was he, But some folks sed a queer un ; I met him once, an' foun' he was Nut werry list o' hearin\ Once, when to his house John Noakes had cum A-courtin', in due form, To fine him 'gin his kitchin racks. Lore ! how he 'gan to storm ! Blame me, thote John, if this here ain't A werry pritty sturt : Poll seems full coad, an' now I am Put still more out 0' heart ! John hafe-inclined to winnick was, Whoile settin' on his stool, An' acted so, some thote he was A-goon to tourn a fool. Oh ! he'd nuver sich an upset had, As he ded git that day; — Ah ! that things e'er shud goo cross-grain' d When loavers 'ood be gay ! But git on better soon, it seem'd, Ded timersome John Noakes ; An' Mary's marster, he found out, With him but play'd his jokes. b 2 10 ' Sides, Mary's conduct to poor John, It now dent seem so wusser ; An' liddle fuss she now 'ood maake Whene'er he troy'd to buss her. An' dash my buttons ! if she dent — (But then sich oft the case is) Nex time John cum, soon 'gree to goo With him to Tiptree Races. How pleased was he ! the foce ov hope Etch former cross so chases Thote he, with me, I was affeard, She oon't goo to the races. 'Twas now the middle ov July, An', all gud people, they Well know the races e'er cum roun' When 'tis St. Jemes's Day. An' twas the time ov haysel, too — A bizzy time with farmers ; But ah ! to-year, sich rains they'd had, E'en banges wor alarmers. A follarin' time, the farmer's crups, It ollis suits um best ; Their hay becums too oft but mulch — When wet,*-— as may be guess' d. 11 Poor honest John ! His plain, he know'd But liddle ov life's range, Or he'd a-know'd, gals oft, at fust, Have ways tarnation strange. "Dorn't yow maake count," John's mates him ax'cl, The day afore they fell, " To goo an' see the races, mate, " If you're alive an' well ?" " I dorn't knaa that I shain't," said John, " As there's to be sich spote : " I 'spose, togither, you'll all goo ? — "Ar, you'll all goo, I thote." The day arrived — the twenty-fifth — An' nuthin' threaten' d rain ; The ark worn't out — no clouds appear' d, — That fine 'tood be was plain. A nice day 'twas, as it advanced, Yow had no call to shelter ; So close it, howsomever, was, Lore ! how folks seem'd to swelter ! " When race-time 'tis it ollis rains !" Yow who cry this mus' mizzle ; But oft, by gom ! when we've bin there, It seem'd amos' to drizzle. 12 If nut then in our bettermust, Our cloaths, we shoon't so mind urn , An' — if umberrellas there we take- So cumbersome we find urn. When wet, etch swell, he grumpy is, An' glum etch lass so smart ; 'Sides, od rabbet it ! I hate to see Sich trapesin' through the dart. To-year, howe'er, so fine the day, It seem'd quoite an enticer; An' some, at Tip tree, wow'd right on They'd nuver sin a nicer. John Noakes, his marster, over-night, When he'd done pitchin' hay, He'd ax'd him, as 'twas race-time, for An artnoon's hulliday. John's marster — no jocoshus man — Declared to him, in brief, — That buckle-to well arterwuds He mus',~— then gave him leaf. Some sed John seem'd — but, then, too oft Folks prattle loike a parrot- When brush' d-up he for Tiptree was, As smart as any carrot. 13 That day, besure, a bran-new suit He'd claa'd out ov his hutch; Ees, bran-span-new, — as yit, in them He'd nut e'en bin to chutch. Cout — weskit — britches, all so smart, (At Tiptree who seems sparin' ?) John's weskit, howsomever, 'haps, That was amos' too flarin'. With Mary Styles to 'pear a lout ! John's proide, it seem'd to shock it; 'Sides, two suvrins ded the puss contain He'd in his britches pocket. An' Mary, too, har scringin' John, She'd toad him to his head, — By none but one well tighted-up To Tiptree she'd be lead. Sed she, — " I'd's lieve yoVd nut at all " With me that day be found, " If you're nut drest as smart as I " When in my yallar gownd." Besure, when yow saa Mary drest, Nought she had on look'd buntin' ; An' long she'd niggle at har glass, When she har hair was fruntin' . 14 Now, — as 'twas race-time — Mary, too, She'd gut a hulliday; 'Twas, 'cos liar marster, frum the Heath, He lived a goodish way. 'Sides, wish to see har mother, sure, Does every gud darter ; So Mary ded, — 'twas nut at all John Noakes that she was arter ! At gammickin' John's Mary oft Seem'd rayther ov a sinner : That day, at housen so she'd stopp'd, She was behine for dinner. She (I expect) for lunch, some cake, Or suffin gud had had, For so late she came, with har, at fust, Har mother seem'd quoite mad. A dinner nice the oad folks have, At race-time, ollis 'ood, — That day, they had a toad-in-hole, A dish that's deadly gud. But when oad Styles to goffle it Bargun, he soon ded cry out : — " Missus ! I thinks as how, taa-day, " Yow've put the meller's eye out ! 15 " The taters, too, they're nut anuff,— " The meat, 'tis nearly rear;" — An', about it, to maake a-tardo Inclined he ded appear. His dame rejoin' d, — "That mauther, Sail, " I cain't trust to har yit ; " The oven — by har baakin' thus — " She dent hafe rassle it." Now, with har daddy, Sail e'er seem'd The favourite all o'er; Aldoe a harum-scarum slut, An' so he jarr'd no more. — The dinner o'er, soon in the yard To walk some wor inclined, To see the flowers — but nut tell they Had had a glass ov wind. To Tiptree now, afore the house, The folks bargun to throng ; Some wor so anxious to git there, Lore ! how they tore along ! John Noakes, bum-by, come up he ded 5 When Mary seem'd more settled; For tell he came, that day, some twig'cl, She had seem'd rayther nettled. 16 Though some days agoo he'd tewly bin, Our John, he now declared, That he was bobbish, when they all Ax'd koindly how he fared. Sed John — as Mary seem'd to think His lateness quoite a crime, — " To pack our kilters up, this moarn, " It tuck us sich a-time." It seem'd, he an' his mate, they had A-drillin' tunnips bin ; An' none or both cud leave their wark Tell all the sid was in. — Poor John, though late, loike fleck he'd walk' d, An' it was hort an' dusty, So — when some mead or wind he tuck — He sed he was so thusty. " Though this here wind may squench my thust," Thote he, as Mary waited, " 'Twill be a wonderment indeed " If I'm intossicated." — John's Mary, who'd har things ptit on, She now the time was grudgin' ; An' all declared, for Tiptree, it Was high-time to be trudgin'. 17 Dame Styles, she sed — but then how cud They wait for't sich awhile ? — Quoite arly, if they'd stup to tea, She'd maake the kittle bile. But so crazy all for Tiptree wor, They coodn't thussins stay ; Though oft begin the spote dorn't tell 'Tis bline-man's hulliday. "No bull's-noon hours I'll ha' ya keep, — "An' mine what you're about," Dame Styles, too, sed— when kep up late She felt so dilver'd out. At las, the pair an' all wor oaf, With joyous hearts an' light ; An' at the gate Dame Styles stupp'd tell She'd sin um out o' sight ! The noise — sich numbers pass'd um dreft- Oh ! it was duntin' quoite; — John's arm along hoap Mary well, For still she hued it toight. A hare-brain' d set seem'd most ov them What pass'd in cart or shay; Some, howsomever, so jubb'd on> No pontin' hoss had they. 18 Oh ! sich a hallarbaloo ded soon In our pair's aers resoun', They knoVd but liddle fuddar they'd To goo to retch the groun\ When they'd right afore the Priory gut, An' somewhat slack' d their pace, — John remark' d, it seem'd a curous Oad ruinated place. When they arrived, of coas, they found Ov wisitors a mort : High — low— tag-rag — an' bob-tail, — all To Tip tree e'er resort. The Heath seem'd amos kiver'd, there Was sich a kit ov folks ; An' nut one molloncholy face Discover cud John Noakes. None seem'd to ha' the mulligrubs — None seem'd down in the dumps; An' the folks — though sich a quantity — Most on um starr'd their stumps. John was a-dry, an' soon cried out — " Goon git some beer we 'ool !" He'd so to wait, it maade him riled, The booths wor all chuck full. 19 Whoile waitin', for a weskit-piece He'd higgled, tell he swore, Aldoe his fingers itch'd to haa't, He'd give the chap no more. With waiters, when his beer was brote John's stinginess increased; He sed, it had bin squiggled tell 'Twas jes as thick as east. An' thrip-punce for sich stuff as that — • 'Twas quoite out ov the way; But he drink' d it up, so John, at las, Down'd with the dubs to pay. To stan' sich charge some oathers, too, Inclined dent seem to feel ; But booth-keepers sich expenses have, They'd need to taake a deal. — 'Twas six o'clock,— an' Mary ax'd, Whoile dawdlin' Johnny stud, If the racin' 'oodn't soon bargin,— John counted that it 'ood. Some frins of John's, who at him now Had tuck a squint, they cried — " Sen John's kep comp'ny with that gal, "He's quoite transmogrified !" 20 Ees, all, with what John ust to be, His present looks contrasted : Oft so many roun' him now 'ood git, He was hafe flabbergasted. So close the eve, when nigh him some Their snortin' steeds ded guide, John bawl'd, — " That hoss, with flies, poor thing, " Look how he's terrified !" — Sich a clatter toards the startin* post Soon maade the hosses fit, 'Twas plain, they wor the racers now Togither goon to git. Folks went so helter-skelter, too — Some this way an' some that ; " My goodness ! wos-a-matter, John I" Cried Mary, who was scat. Some scuttled on, whoile toards the sput They stared loike pigs when stuck ; An' John loped on with glee, aldoe With fear his Mary shuck. Though, 'tis plain, sich things as cart-racks On no race-coas shud be sin, At Tiptree now, full many gigs Some deep uns jounced in. 21 John's arm hued Mary up, or, 'haps, In some she 'ood ha' bin; — 'Tis so hobbly, too, whene'er we'd walk, To stumble we bargin. But if folks 'ood coach more gentily, Less oft they'd feel a julk ; An' if toddlers 'ood but mine their path, They'd seldom have a hulk. John — as he'd nut be wentersome, Ded now his Mary tell, — " If yow loike to stup on this here rice, " YoVll see the hosses well." They stupp'd, — an' to stan' back some now Ov oathers oft ded beg ; Yit, some wor so obstropolus, They 'oodn't star a peg. Four tits, at las, they mounted wor — To beat etch rider meant ; They sturted in a twinkin' then, An' down the coas they went. As they cut away, the company Still kep upon the glare ; An' when comin' in, the hosses ded Along loike blazes tear. 22 In the wind, the jockeys' hankerchars : ; An' jackets how they flack 5 d ! An 5 those wor in a fidgit who Their favourites had back'd. The fust hoss, by the liddlest, Some thote he 'ood be beat; At las, he cotch an 5 pass'd him, An 5 soon he won the heat. One hoss to kitch anoather thus, The spote it much increases : Some cried, — "Dorn't talk ov Galleywood; "This beats that aut to pieces !" One sorry steed, they'd well chopp'd on, As he was gooin' roun', — When right agin a heap o' culch, Oh ! smack he bundled down. It proved oad butcher Thingomee's, A hack that ne'er cud win; Some had sung out they'd jigger' d be If he e'er fust came in. The secunt hoss — all through the groun', It seem'd, he'd had a check, — Or he'd a-won, some thote, 'cos he Lost onny by a neck. 23 Oh ! ye jockeys, with your hosses ' • < m- Why more hiimoursome aint yow ? i ■ For when leather' d is a runnin' hoss *• It ollis maakes him cow ! Know, the riders at Newmarket, Who cute uns yow 'ood call, Unloike yow chaps at Tiptree, They rarely pay at all; ■ . - -•.-•' An 5 I tell ya what, ye throshers, Sich pluck they've orfan shown, Some hosses, they have run untel Stone-dead they^ve tumbled down. — To SamwelPs an' to Richardson's Our pair now bent their way ; For nicely there, had Mary hard, Musicianers ded play. An' there the Andraa's played sich tricks — There was sich fun an' joke, That many ov the Johnny's thote They dreft a pritty stroke. Some ov the bouys, upon the stage, So carl' d themselves about,-— "How they can doe that there," cried John, " It wholly beats me out !" 24 Agin these shows, oh, what a scrowge ! So much sich fun delights ; But John an' Mary, now they thote They'd goo an' see the sights. John sed, — when they wor sheu at one Some wiews that all ded please, — " In my born days I nuver saa " Sich pritty draffs as these !" Nex, in a wile-beas show they went, Where Mary was affeard : There a man so hugg'd some liuns, that A-many folks it queer' d. John, one dicky-thing, with curous stroips, Was woundly pleased to see ; — The monkeys, too, lore ! how he laugh' d To eye their deviltry ! Though oft some jackanips we wiew A-handlin' e'en their claas, — Ne'er meddle or maake with wile-beas, pray,- Nor stan' too nigh the bars. If e'er their jars they've maade ya feel, This gud adwice you'll call ; For sich warman's gripe — or I'll be darn'd — 'Tood soon maake ya sing small. 25 Our pair now stupp'd where some odd stick Attracted many a hearer ; He frum a cart was sellin' truck, Jes loike an auctioneered He gave away, nut soad his things ; But this was all presumption : His gab the riff-raff pleased, cos he Spake sich a deal ov gumption. John, jest arter he'd some ballets bote, With him, oh, what a fuss ! For I'll be dash'd if some rip han't Bin grabbin' at his puss. " Well, this here is a pritty goo, " If they ha' nabb'd my gold !"— Cried John, who cudn't tell his lorss Tell all his cash he'd told ! But John's puss, his suvrins, bobs an' all, He found it still contain' d; An' his 'baccar box, an 5 muckinger, Wor all the scamps had gain'd. Though frum him they'd cribb'd but liddle, John was in sich a cue, — If the rapscallion he'd a-cotch, He'd put him in a stew. B 26 — Ov biznus, at the Lunnun booths, Now what a stroke was drivin' ; To git all he cud rap an' rend Etch keeper seem'd a strivin'. 'Gin one ov urn some soadgers stud, An' nigh some aukard chaps, — Who seem'd as though they'd 'listed, for They'd ribbuns roun' their caps. Sed John, — "Loike they, wor I to 'list, " My mummy, how Hood shock her ! "But I'll nut goo a-soadgerin', " Whoile there's shot in the locker /" — Now, in a booth, our pair, agin They down had snugly sot, But at a table what had on't Of crumbles sich a lot. Both on um to a waiter soon Ded grumble, as was roight ; When soon, by elbar-grease, he maade Their table pritty toight. There ov oysters some had had a chate, Also ov bread a stull ; But that oon't singafy if they'd Their shells away but hull. 27 " John ! that waiter hinder favours yow," — So Mary sed she thote : " If he favour 9 d me/' cried John, " he'd long "Agoo our cidar brote !" Now John — than cidar — bettar loiked Some gin-un- water — far; But, though Mary oft had maggots strange, Of coas, he mus please har. He cud — when they, at las, it brote — Upon the groun' it swack'd ; For whene'er he cidar drink' d, he'd ov The gullion an at tact. Poor John ! he'd jest his cidar gut, An' for't had tipp'd the cash, — When a joggle knock' d the tumbler down* An* bruck it au to smash. A joulterhead — an' for the nonce — Had gut John in this hobble ; Leas-ways, he guess' d so, an 3 there was With them a precious swabble. The man, who was all rags an' jags To own it soon bargan ; But 'twas cos the table (so he stuck) Ded nut more ginnick stan'. 28 John's maid, too, now, hafe runty was — At any rate, she frown' d: Through the job what caused this rumpus, Still dreanin' was har gownd. An', har boarnt, that, with candle snace, Gut crock' d whoile she sot there ; Which she cudn't better stummuck than To feel har sizzled hair. Though the joulterhead was nearly stump' d, He an' John ded, at las, Fork out the brads — though with a lear — To buy anoather glass. But, howsomever, spite ov all, His seat some time kep John ; Though hafe-quackled oft by 'baccar smuck, To see the gooin's on. An' as Mary still seem'd rayther mum, John lots ov spice-nuts bought har : With them they long went snacks, an chaw'd Them with some gin-un-water. When maakin' these nice cakes, folks shud Much more eke out their spice ; John's wor so hort, more they had put Than jest a leetle jice. 29 " Oh ! there is sich a dullar here !" — At length, poor Mary sed, — " I'm dunted, an' I gin to feel " Sich mis'ry in my head." An' dang it ! well she might, for some Cross brats set-up a-blarin' In sich a way, you'd wish'd amost That you'd bin hard o'harin'. But cuttin' teeth two on um wor, An' they had gomes so sore ; Or — though to their chops tares trinkled down- I'd had um basted more. Their mummies, sure, they all wor dif, Or they'd, when nigh an' handy, — To stup sich squarls, a pennorth bote Ov lollipops or candy. — Our pair now left their noisy buth, To see agin the plays ; An' at a stall, soon Mary bote A hume-book full ov gays. A leetle doddy thing it was, Quoite a curosity; — Of coas, John tipp'd the blunt for't, for No hunks e'er seemed he. 30 An* John's gud gal, as every Etch Sunday ded cum roun', She'd now taake it to chutch, for long She'd in the singin' joun. John, he'd an arrant, too — (his mate Ded as a favour ask it)* — It was that John, frum Tip tree, 'ood Bring him a new frail basket. An' where John his mate's basket bote He had anoather deal ; He'd gut a bran-new tunnip hoe, There for't he bote a steel. A rum un he, what kep the stall, Which hant gut any ruff, — (So thote our John) — he saacy was, An' fibs ded troy to cuff. — " 'Tis gittin' late,"— so Mary oft To John now kep declarin' ; An' now she wish'd to goo an' buy Har liddle niece a fairin' . * " Ax it," gentle reader, it should be, but then I am situated as was the author of the Scottish epitaph, — " Here lies John Campbell, — more's the pity, Who met with his death in Campbell city. " N.B. It should have been Campbell town, but it wadna rhyme." 31 Har liddle mosey newys, too, She thote ov them, I 'spose; Or, drat urn ! when they hard she'd nut, They'd so look at their nose. An' if she dent them suffin bring, Har dad 'ood maake a-noise; — So she bote some kickshaws, at a stall, Also some jim-crack toys. John, too, he'd nuver scaly seem, With Mary at his side ; For them, he in his hankerchar Some thingumbobs had tied. — At las, John sed, — "About here thus " We mus no longer gawm ; " Tool be so late 'fore we git home, :X?[ «6f- ei r *r^i ; ^ ,