i' owd Cockle Wood,
As if by their notes they all understood,
As weel as the people who com wi' a smile,
To see the procession march off i' grand style.

"Owd Rowland," the bell wi' his gert iron tongue,
Proclaim'd to the people both owd an' young,
'Twor high time to rise for each moment wor dear
As t'train wod be startin' fer Lake Windermere;
An' Rowland, the bell, didn't toll, sir, i' vain,
For hunderds wur ready ta start for the train.

But harken what music--grand music is here,
Ower maantains, dahn valleys, it's saanding so clear;
It's t'Turkey Mill Band wi ther sharps and ther flats,
I' ther blue an' green coits an' ther red-toppin'd hats,
'Tis plain whear they're bahn wi' t'long paces they take,
An' they'll play wi' some vengeance at Windermere Lake.

But, harken ageean! what's comin' this way?
More music, grand music; hey, hear how they play!
It's t'Fife an' Drum Band fra Throttlepoke Raw,
Wi' as strong a big drummer as ivver yah saw,
An' both his drum ends must be solid as stone,
Fer bi t'way 'at he thumps he macks it fair groan.

The procession moves off in a double quick pace,
An' all seem delightful--a smile on ther face,
As the music strikes up wi' owd "Robin a Dair,"
Toan hauf o' t'wimmen scarce knaw what they ail;
To see the bands marching it wod yah delight,
So ably conducted by owd Jimmy Wright.

The weivers led on by Miss Hob an' Miss Hall,
Each dress'd i' ther jackets, new turban, an' fall,
An' if you'd o' seen 'em you'd o' thowt they wor fine,
Wi' ther nice parasols an' ther gert crinoline;
But as they wor marchin' foaks sed at Miss Hob,
Wor t'nicest and smartest young woman i' t'job.

T'next section 'at followed wor a section o' rakes,
Led on by owd blossom, an' Driver o' Jacques,
Wi' Ruddock an' Rufus, an' Snowball so breet;
Along wi' owd Nathan, Bill Rollin an' Wreet;
An' Harry O'Bridget, Tom Twist, an' his pals,
An' Benger, an' Capper, an' Jonas o Salls.

The lads an' the lasses come marchin' behind,
An' rare an' weel suited wor t'youngsters yo mind;
For all wor nah waitin' fer t'Fife an' Drum Band,
To strike up like thunner ther music so grand;
How prahd an' delighted yo might a seen some,
When t'drummer wi' vengeance wor thumpin' his drum.

An' who cud hev thowt it?--but let ma go on;--
There wor Jacky o' Squires an' Cowin' Heead John,
Wi' Corney o' Rushers, but not bi hissen,
For there wor Joseph o' Raygills, owd Jess an' owd Ben.
Ye sall seek fer a month, but between nah