If pigeons’ wings are plucked, and peacocks’ tails refuse to grow, friend!
In spring; you may depend upon’t in autumn they will shew, friend!
If feathers hang about your fowls in drooping style and spare, friend!
Both cocks and hens will get their pens to Barnstaple Fair, friend!
Then, friend leave off your wig, and Barum’s privileges share too,
Where everything grows once a year, wing-feathers, tails and hair, too!
If winter wear and summer dust call out for paint and putty, sir!
And Newport coals in open grates make paper-hangings smutty, sir!
And rusty shops and houses fronts most sadly want repair, sir!
Both shops and houses will be smart, to Barnstaple Fair, sir!