’Tis “Old Corey Dyne,” who wisely declares,
Stretton’s lads must be beaten at all Purton’s fairs;
They can’t match our courage, then, huzza! my boys,
To still conquering Purton let’s kick up a noise.
“Old Corey’s” the merriest blade in the fair,
What he tells us is true, so, prithee, don’t stare;
“Remember poor Corey, come, pray have a throw,
’Tis but once a year, as you very well know.”
But—here ends my song, so let’s haste to the green,
’Tis as pretty a spot as ever was seen;
And if you are sad or surrounded with care,
Haste quickly! haste quickly! to Old Purton Fair.
NATURALISTS’ CALENDAR.
Mean Temperature 61·07.