Boiled beef, roast beef, squab pie, pear pie, and figgy pudding plenty,
When eight or nine sit down to dine, they’ll find enough for twenty;
And after dinner, for dessert, the choicest fruits you’ll share, sir!
E’en walnuts come from Somerset, to Barnstaple Fair, sir!
Then sing of Barum, jolly town, and Barum’s jolly Mayor too,
No town in England can be found, old Barum to compare to.
I will not sing of Bullock Fair, and brutes whose horrid trade is,
To make us shut our window blinds, and block up all the ladies:
Nor of the North Walk rush and crush, where fools at horses stare, sir!
When Mister Murray brings his nags to Barnstaple Fair, sir!