Come down to-morrow night; an' mind, Don't leäve thy fiddle-bag behind; We'll sheäke a lag, an' drink a cup O' eäle, to keep wold Chris'mas up.
An' let thy sister teäke thy eärm, The walk won't do her any harm; There's noo dirt now to spweil her frock, The ground's a-vroze so hard's a rock.
You won't meet any stranger's feäce, But only naïghbours o' the pleäce, An' Stowe, an' Combe; an' two or dree Vrom uncle's up at Rookery.
An' thou wu'lt vind a rwosy feäce, An' peäir ov eyes so black as sloos, The prettiest woones in all the pleäce,-- I'm sure I needen tell thee whose.
We got a back-bran', dree girt logs So much as dree ov us can car; We'll put em up athirt the dogs, An' meäke a vier to the bar.
An' ev'ry woone shall tell his teäle, An' ev'ry woone shall zing his zong, An' ev'ry woone wull drink his eäle To love an' frien'ship all night long.
We'll snap the tongs, we'll have a ball, We'll sheäke the house, we'll lift the ruf, We'll romp an' meäke the maïdens squall, A catchèn o'm at blind-man's buff.
Zoo come to-morrow night; an' mind, Don't leäve thy fiddle-bag behind; We'll sheäke a lag, an' drink a cup O' eäle, to keep wold Chris'mas up.
An' zoo you didden come athirt, To have zome fun last night: how wer't? Vor we'd a-work'd wi' all our might To scour the iron things up bright, An' brush'd an' scrubb'd the house all drough; An' brought in vor a brand, a plock O' wood so big's an uppèn-stock, An' hung a bough o' misseltoo, An' ax'd a merry friend or two, To keepèn up o' Chris'mas.
An' there wer wold an' young; an' Bill, Soon after dark, stalk'd up vrom mill. An' when he wer a-comèn near, He whissled loud vor me to hear; Then roun' my head my frock I roll'd, An' stood in orcha'd like a post, To meäke en think I wer a ghost. But he wer up to't, an' did scwold To vind me stannèn in the cwold, A keepèn up o' Chris'mas.
We plaÿ'd at forfeits, an' we spun The trencher roun', an' meäde such fun! An' had a geäme o' dree-ceärd loo, An' then begun to hunt the shoe. An' all the wold vo'k zittèn near, A-chattèn roun' the vier pleäce, Did smile in woone another's feäce. An' sheäke right hands wi' hearty cheer, An' let their left hands spill their beer, A keepèn up o' Chris'mas.
Why, raïn or sheen, or blow or snow, I zaid, if I could stand so's, I'd come, vor all a friend or foe, To sheäke ye by the hand, so's; An' spend, wi' kinsvo'k near an' dear, A happy evenèn, woonce a year, A-zot wi' me'th Avore the he'th To zee the new year in, so's.