TOM GOOL, AND LUCK IN THA BAG.
"Luck, Luck in tha Bag! Good Luck!
Put in an try yer fortin;
Come, try yer luck in tha Lucky Bag!
You'll git a prize vor sartin."
Mooäst plazen hâ their customs
Ther manners an ther men;
We too a got our customs,
Our manners and our men.
He who a bin ta Huntspill Fâyer
Or Highbridge—Pawlet Revel—
Or Burtle Sassions, whaur thâ plâ
Zumtimes tha very devil,
Mist mine once a man well
That war a câll'd TOM GOOL;
Zum thawt en mazed, while withers thawt
En moor a knave than fool.
At all tha fâyers an revels too
TOM GOOL war shower ta be,
A tâkin vlother vast awâ,—
A hoopin who bit he.
Vor' âll that a had a zoort o' wit
That zet tha vawk a laughin;
An mooäst o' that, when ho tha yal
Ad at tha fâyer bin quaffin.
A corr'd a kit o' pedlar's waur, Like awld Joannah Martin; [Footnote: This Lady, who was for many years known in Somersetshire as an itinerant dealer in earthenware, rags, &c., and occasionally a fortune-teller, died a few years since at Huntspill, where she had resided for the greater part of a century. She was extremely illiterate, so much so, as not to be able to write, and, I think, could scarcely read. She lived for some years in a house belonging to my father, and while a boy, I was very often her gratuitous amanuensis, in writing letters for her to her children. She possessed, however, considerable shrewdness, energy, and perseverance, and amassed property to the amount of several hundred pounds. She had three husbands; the name of the first was, I believe, Gool or Gould, a relation of Thomas Gool, the subject of the above Poem; the name of the second was Martin, of the third Pain; but as the last lived a short time only after having married her, she always continued to be called Joannah Martin.
Joannah was first brought into public notice by the Rev. Mr. WARNER, in his Walks through the Western Counties, published in 1800, in which work will be found a lively and interesting description of her; but she often said that she should wish me to write her life, as I was, of course, more intimately acquainted with it than any casual inquirer could possibly be. An additional notice of Joannah was inserted by me in the Monthly Magazine, for Nov. 1816, page 310. I had among my papers, the original song composed by her, which I copied from her dictation many years ago,—the only, copy in existence; I regret that I cannot lay my hand upon it; as it contains much of the Somersetshire idiom. I have more than once heard her sing this song, which was satirical, and related to the conduct of a female, one of her neighbours, who had become a thief.
Such was JOANNAH MARTIN, a woman whose name (had she moved in a sphere where her original talents could have been improved by education,) might have been added to the list of distinguished female worthies of our country.
[The MS. song was never, that I am aware of, discovered
after my relative's death.—Editor, J. K. J.]
An nif yon hân't a hired o' her,
You zumtime sholl vor sartin.
"Luck, Luck in tha Bag!" TOM, cried
"Put in and try yer fortin;
Come try yer luck in tha lucky bag;
You'll git a prize vor sartin.
All prizes, norra blank,
Norra blank, âll prizes!
A waiter—knife—or scissis sheer—
A splat o' pins—put in my dear!—
Whitechapel nills âll sizes.
Luck, Luck in tha Bag!—only a penny vor a venter—you mid get, a- ma-be, a girt prize—a Rawman waiter!—I can avoord it as cheep as thic that stawl it—I a bote it ta trust, an niver intend to pâ vor't. Luck, Luck in tha bag! âll prizes; norra blank!
Luck, Luck in tha Bag! Good Luck!
Put in an try yer fortin;
Come, try yer luck in tha lucky bag!
You'll git a prize vor sartin.
Come, niver mine tha single-sticks,
Tha whoppin or tha stickler,
You dwon't want now a brawken head,
"Nor jitchy zoort o' tickler!
Now Lady! yer prize is—'A SNUFF-BOX,'
A treble-japann'd Pontypool!
You'll shower come again ta my luck in tha bag,
Or niver trust me—TOMMY GOOL.
Luck, Luck in tha bag! Good Luck!
Put in an try yer fortin;
Come, try yer luck in tha lucky bag!
You'll git a prize for sartin!