He sed my blud begins to boil,
To think et we sud work an’ toil,
And ev’n the cattle cannot thoyle
To let us hev a Railway.
On hearing this the Haworth foak
Began to swear it wur no joak,
An wisht at greedy cah ma choak,
At swallowed t’ plan o’ t’ Railway.
But hasumivver they gat ower this, and wur not long at after afore they hed more disasters, such as tunnils shutterin, and chapels sinkin, and law suits, and so on, wal Haworthers thout be t’ hart at both the fouk and the grund wur soft dahn at Keighley, and threttened to comb sum o’ the crookt-legged ens their heeads if they insinuated; and the Volunteers threttened to tak their part if there wur owt to do; and farther ner that, they vowed that they were ready to go to war wi onny nashun that sud insult awther them or ther railway under the present difficulties.
But sighs and tears and doubts and fears,
Prevails with greatest folly,
For ’t sinagog has cockt its clog,
And ’t parson’s melancholy.
Tunnils sink and navvies drink,
And chapels are upsetting;
For Railway Shares nobody cares,
And iverybody’s fretting.
The iron horse they curse of course,
And fane wud it abandon;
And loyers fees their pockets ease,
A thousand pound e Lundun.
Misfortunes speed as rank as weed,
An’ puts on sich a damper;
Wal t’ foaks declare e grate dispair,
Its up wi’t iron tramper.
The volunteers prick up their ears,
An mak a famos rattle;
Thay want ta run ta Wimbleton,
Or onny field o’ battle.
Their black cravats an toppen’d hats
Are causing grate attraction;
Against Boneypart thay want ta start,
E reglar fightin action.
The raw recuits hev got ther suits,
Thay brag ta wun another:
Ta’t first campaign thay’l tak the train,
Withaat the sliteist bother.