The day wor fine, the sun did shine,
No sines o’ rain to fall,
When t’North Beck hands, e jovial bands,
Did visit Malsis Hall.

Up by the hill o’ North Beck Mill,
Both ould an’ young did meet;
To march I trow, e two-by-two,
E processhun dahn the street.

An’ Marriner’s Band, we music grand,
Struck up wi all ther might;
Then one and all, both great and small,
March’d on we great delight.

The girls and boys, we jovial noise,
The fife and drum did play;
For every one would have some fun
On this eventful day.

Oud Joan o’ Sall wi’ all his palls,
Marched on wi’ all ther ease;
Just for a lark, some did remark,
There goes some prime oud cheese!

The Exlaheead chaps wi their girt caps,
An’ coits nut quite i’th’ fashion;
With arms ding-dong, they stretch along,
An’ put a fineish dash on.

Tom Wilkin drest up in his best,
T’ oud wife put on her fall,
For they wor bent, what come or went,
To dine at Malsis Hall.

There wor Tommy Twist, among the list,
We his magenta snaat;
Hez often said, sin he gat wed,
T’ oud lass sud hev an aht.

Amongst the lot wor oud Sam Butt,
As fine as oud Lord Digby;
An’ oud Queer Doos, wi’ his strait shoos,
An’ wi’ him Joseph Rigby.

There’s Jimmy Gill, o’ Castle hill,—
That gentleman wi’t stick,—
There’s Will an’ Sam, and young John Lamb,
An’ Ben an’ Earby Dick.

Aw scorn to lie—the reason why
It is a shame awm sure!
But among the gob, wi’ old Joe Hob,
Behould a perfect cure.

I’d quite forgot, among the lot,
There was old Pally Pickles,
Wi’ crinoline sho walks so fine,
Sho’s like a cat e prickles.

Bud to me tale, aw musant fail
Fer out on this occasion;
We heead erect, and girt respect,
We march to Keighley Station.

And Maud an’ t’ woife, az large az life,
Gat in’t train together;
They both did say, they’d have a day,
Among the blooming hether.

Nah—all fane gat in t’ train,
And Ned began to scream;
Then Master Pratt doft off his hat,
An’ pept aht at the steeam.

This jovial band, when they did land,
Got off the train so hearty,
For they all went, wi’ that intent,
To have a grand tea-party!

The country folk did gape an’ luke,
To see us all delighted,
For every one, did say begum,
Aw wish I’d been invited.

Its joy to tell, they march as well
As the Scots did ower the border,
Ould Wellington and all his men
Ne’er saw such marching order.

The lookers on, to see them come,
Get on the second story;
Right down the park they did the mark,
Coming e full glory.

Then to the place, each smiling face,
Move on in grand succession;
The lookers on did say “well done,
It iz a grand processhun!”

When they’d all past the hall at last,
They form’d into a column;
Then Jimmy Wreet, wi’ all hiz meet,
Gave aht a hymn so solemn:

Then all did raise their voice in praise,
We music in the centre;
They sang a hymn e praise o’ Him,
At iz the girt inventer.

That bit being done, they all did run,
To have a pleasant day in,
Some went there, an’ some went here,
An’ t’ Bands began o’ playing.

We mich amaze, we all did gaze,
Around this splendid park;
Then little Jake began to speak,
An’ thus he did remark:—

“At Morecambe Bay aw’ve been a day,
At Bolton Woods an’ Ilkley;
But Malsis Hall outstrip them all,
At aw’ve seen aht o’ Keighley.”

The girt park wall around the hall,
Majestically does stand;
The waving trees, an pleasant breeze,
Its loike a fairy land.

It fill’d wer eyes, we great surprise,
To see the fountain sporting;
An’ on the top, stuck on a pot,
The British flags wor floating.

The walks so grand, wi’ yellow sand,
An’ splendid wor the paving,
High over all, around the wall,
Wor flags an’ banners waving.

Nah some made fun, an’ some did run,
And women they wor swinging;
Do you ken the “Muffin Man,”—
Others they wor singing.

In sooth wor grand, to see this band,
Assemble all together;
Bud sad to say, that varry day,
Turned aht some shocking weather.

Even war nert rain, aw mun explain,
At caused a girt disaster,
All but one sort o’ breead ran short,
It wor no fault o’ t’ master.

O! Gormanton! thy bread an’ bun,
An’ judgment it wor scanty;
Oh! what a shame, an’ what a name,
For not providing plenty!

Oh, silly clown! thou might have known
To eyt each one wor able;
The country air did mack some swear,
They could ommost eyt a table.

The atmosphere, no longer clear,
The clouds are black an’ stormy;
Then all but one away did run,
Like some deserting army.

On—on! they go! as if some foe
Wor charging at the lot!
If they got there, they didn’t care
A fig for poor Will Scott!

Poor lame ould Will, remains there still,
His crutches has to fetch him;
But he’s seen the toime, when in his prime,
At nobody there could catch him.

Like some fast steed, wi’ all its speed,
All seem’d as they wor flying;
To escape the rain, an’ catch the train,
Both old and young wor trying.

One neet, old Wills, about Crosshills,
He heeard a fearful humming,
He said t’ woife, upon my life,
Aw think the French are coming!

Tha knaws reight weel at we’ve heeard tell
O sich strange things before,
So lass look quick, an’ cut thee stick,
An’ a will bolt the door.

Like drahnded rats, they pass their mates,
An’ rans dahn to the station;
And Betty Bakes an’ Sally Shakes,
Their both plump aht o’ patience.

“This is a mess,” says little Bess,
At lives o’t top o’t garden;
“There’s my new shawl an’ fine lace fall,
They’ll nut be worth a farden.”

But, hark! ding-dong goes through the throng,
The bell does give the sign,
With all its force, the iron horse,
Comes trotting up the line.

Then one by one they all get on,
Wet, fatigued and weary;
The steam does blow, old Ned doth go,
And we come back so cheery.

All satisfied we their short ride—
But sorry for the rain—
Each thenkt ther stars they’re nowt no war,
An’ we’ve got home again.

Whene’er we roam away from home,
No matter where or when,
In storm or shower, if in wer power,
To home—sweet home, return!

What we had seen—where we had been—
Each to our friend wor telling:
The day being spent, we homeward went
To each respective dwelling.