‘Now,’ dey says, ‘we’ll have a supper for goers an’ comers an’ all gentry to come at.’
You’ah shuah it should be a ’spensible supper an’ no savation of no money. And deah wuz to be tales tell’d an’ songs sing’d. An’ every wan dat didn’t sing’t a song had to tell’t a tale. An’ every door wuz bolted for fear any wan would mek a skip out. An’ it kem to pass to dis’ Gypsy gal to sing a song; an’ de gentleman dat fun’ her says, ‘Now, my pretty Gypsy gal, tell a tale.’
An’ de gentleman dat wuz her husband knowed her, an’ didn’t want her to tell a tale. And he says, ‘Sing a song, my pretty Gypsy gal.’ [[200]]
An’ she says, ‘I won’t sing a song, but I’ll tell a tale. An’ she says—
‘Bobby rag! Bobby rag!
Roun’ de oak tree——’
‘Pooh! pooh!’ says her husband, ‘dat tale won’t do.’ (Now de ole mother an’ de son, dey knowed what wuz comin’ out.)
‘Go on, my pretty Gypsy gal,’ says de oder young genleman. ‘A werry nice tale indeed.’
So she goes on—
‘Bobby rag! Bobby rag!