Last Sunday, reight early, I sett off fra home,
Ower mountains an’ valleys, intending to roam;
As it wor a fine morning an’ no sign o’ rain,
I bethowt ma I’d go up Oakworth be t’train;
But I’m sitch a whimsical sort of a man,
I nivver get threw wi owt at I plan.

For I’d hardly goan two hundred yards fra my door,
When who did I see walking prattly before?
It wor oud Jennet t’Ranter fra Avercake row,
As nice a oud body is ivver you saw;
Shoo wor dress’d up ta t’mark wi her Cashmere shawl,
An wor bahn dahn to t’meeting at Temperance Hall.

When I saw it wor Jennet I lengthen’d my pace,
An’ as soon as shoa saw me shoo look’d i’ my face;
An’ says “Hallo, Bill! tha’s com’d aght fearful soin
Ther’ll be a blue snaw;—pray, where are ta gooin?
If tha’s nobbut come aht for a bit of a stroll,
Tha’d better go wi ma for t’gooid o’ thy soul.”

So I agreed to go wi her; for what could I do,
When t’decent oud woman wor teasing ma so?
So we link’d on together an’ paddled along,
Both on us singing a Glory Band song;
Hasomivver we landed, an’ hedn’t ta wait,
For one t’panjandrums hed getten agait.

So they prayed an’ they sang i’ ther oud fashun’d way;
Until a gert chap says “I’ve summat ta say;”
An’ bethart I’st a fallen dahn sick i’ my pew,
But I thowt at toan hauf t’ he said worant true,
For he charged Parson Ball wi’ being drunk i’ the street,
At he’d been put ta bed three times i’ one neet.

“Does ta hear,” says Oud Jennet, “what t’hullet is saying,
He’s using his scandal asteead o’ being praying,
For John Ball is respected by ivvery one,
So I sallant believe a word about John,
Fer him an’ arr Robin are two decent men,
So pray yah nah harken, they’ll speik fer thersen.”

So all wor nah silent, they mud hear a pin fall,
For nobody wor hissing or clapping at all;
For scarce had long Gomersall spun out his yarn,
Wi his two blazing een he hed scarcely sat dahn,
Than John stood up on his pins in a minit,—
An’ rare an’ weel please wor me and Oud Jennet.

“My brethren,” he sed wi a tear in his ee,
“Yah sall hear for yerselns my accusers an’ me,
An’ if I be guilty—man’s liable to fall
As well as yer pastor an’ servant John Ball;
But let my accuser, if faults he hes noan,
Be’t t’first, and no other to thraw the first stone.

“I’ve drunk wine and porter, I do not deny,
But then my accusers hev not telled you why:
So their false accusation I feel it more keen,
’Cos I’ve hed the lumbago i’ both o’ my een;
Beside mi back warked as if it wor broke,
An’ mi throit’s been so parched wal I thowt I sud choke.

“I’ve been so distracted and hanneled so bad,
Wal I thowt monny a time I sud ommust go mad,
An’ t’doctors hes tell’d me there wor no other way
Nobbut going to Blackpool or else Morecambe Bay;
An’ charged me to mind if I sat dahn to dine,
To lig into t’porter, an’t brandy, an’t wine.

“So nah, my accusers, what hev you to say,
You can reckon that up in your awn simple way;
But if there’s a falsehood in what I’ve sed nah
I wish mi new hat wod turn into a kah,
So this is mi answer, an’ this mi defence.”
“Well done!” says oud Jennet, “he’s spokken some sense.”

So his speech nah he ended, but it touch’d em it wick,
For we all could see plainly it wor nowt but a trick;
And Jennet declared—tho’ she might be too rude,—
If he’d come up to’t dinner he’s hev some home brew’d,
Fer it spite o’ ther scandal sho wor proud on him yet,
An’ if he drank wine an’ porter who’d out to du wi’t.