THE HORKEY.
A Provincial Ballad.
What gossips prattled in the sun,
Who talk'd him fairly down,
Up, memory! tell; 'tis Suffolk fun,
And lingo of their own.
Ah! Judie Twitchet![A] though thou'rt dead,
With thee the tale begins;
For still seems thrumming in my head
The rattling of thy pins.
[Footnote A: Judie Twitchet was a real person, who lived many years with my mother's cousin Bannock, at Honnington.]
Thou Queen of knitters! for a ball
Of worsted was thy pride;
With dangling stockings great and small,
And world of clack beside!
"We did so laugh; the moon shone bright;
"More fun you never knew;
"'Twas Farmer Cheerum's Horkey night,
"And I, and Grace, and Sue——
"But bring a stool, sit round about,
"And boys, be quiet, pray;
"And let me tell my story out;
"'Twas sitch a merry day!
"The butcher whistled at the door,
"And brought a load of meat;
"Boys rubb'd their hands, and cried, 'there's more,'
"Dogs wagg'd their tails to see't.
"On went the boilers till the hake[Footnote: A sliding pot-hook]
"Had much ado to bear 'em;
"The magpie talk'd for talking sake,
"Birds sung;—but who could hear 'em?