Guy Faux’s night, dost know, we chaps,
A-putten on our woldest traps,
Went up the highest o’ the knaps,
An’ meaede up such a vier!
An’ thou an’ Tom wer all we miss’d,
Vor if a sarpent had a-hiss’d
Among the rest in thy sprack vist,
Our fun 'd a-been the higher.
We chaps at hwome, an’ Will our cousin,
Took up a half a lwoad o’ vuzzen;
An’ burn’d a barrel wi’ a dozen
O’ faggots, till above en
The fleaemes, arisen up so high
‘S the tun, did snap, an’ roar, an’ ply,
Lik’ vier in an’ oven.
An’ zome wi’ hissen squibs did run,
To pay off zome what they’d a-done,
An’ let em off so loud’s a gun
Ageaen their smoken polls;
An’ zome did stir their nimble pags
Wi’ crackers in between their lags,
While zome did burn their cwoats to rags,
Or wes’cots out in holes.
An’ zome o’m’s heads lost half their locks,
An’ zome o’m got their white smock-frocks
Jist fit to vill the tinder-box,
Wi’ half the backs o’m off;
An’ Dick, that all o’m vell upon,
Vound woone flap ov his cwoat-tail gone,
An’ tother jist a-hangen on,
A-zweal’d so black’s a snoff.
Other works by William Barnes...
