an' then,
I defy ye ta find sitch a pick'd lot o' men.

Tom Nicholl then marched at t'heead of his clan,
An' it's said 'at he muster'd his men to a man;
There wor Joaney o' Bobs, an' his mates full o' glee,
An' that little dark fella 'at comes fra t'Gooise Ee.
All a set o' fine fellas in heighest respect,
Weel up i' moustaches an' nicely shirt neckt.

But among the procession at walk'd in his pride,
Wor Joey o' Willie's 'at lives at t'Beck Side;
An' along wi' Bill Earby wor marchin' his friend,
Wun Jemmy o' Roses fra t'Branshaw Moor End.
As we pass'd dahn t'tahn the foaks did declare
'At t'best lukin' men wor Sam Butt an' Black Hare.

But t'next at com on an' made t'biggest crack,
Wor t'gallant Big-benners led on wi' Bill Shack;
An' t'spectators praised 'em an' seem'd i' ther joy,
When they saw Johnny Throstle, an' Nolan an' Boy.
Altho' not weel up i' ther armour an mail,
Yet these are the lads 'at can tell yu a tale.

Hahsumivver, we push'd an' thrusted thro' t'craad,
Wal we landed at t'station an' waited i' t'yard;
So we all sattled dahn, for we thowt it t'best plan
To wait o' wer orders to get into t'train.

Hahsumivver, after a deal o' yellin' an' screamin' o' t'injuns, Mr. Mann
sed all wor reight nah, an' they mud start as sooin as they liked, for
ivverybody wor i' t'train at wor bahn, but owd Pally Pickles an' Matty o'
Maude's; an' their Sally cudn't go becos they had a mustard plaister to
put on to their Roger's chest; he'd strain'd his lungs wi' eitin'
cahcumbers. Beside, owd Pally cudn't go either, becos shoo'd nobody to
wait on t'owd fella at wor laid up i' t'merly grubs; an' ivverybody wor
so taen on abaght Will Scott not going, for, as owd Betty sed, what wod
they do if ther legs gat asleep an' no galvanic battery to shack em
reight ageean?

But, hahsumivver, t'guard blew his whistle an' off t'train started
helter-skelter up bi Utley as hard as ivver it cud go. An nah for a
change o' scene!--fer t'Exley-Heeaders aght wi ther rhubub pasties an'
treacle parkins. Harry o' Bridget's hed a treacle parkin t'size of a
pancake in his hat crahn, an' Joe o' owd Grace's fra Fell Loin hed a gert
bacon collop in his pocket t'size of a oven tin. Somebody remarks,
"Tha'll grease thi owd chops wi' that, Joe." He sed "I like a bit o'
bacon when it isn't reezed, tha knaws, especially home-fed like this";
but just when he wor exhibitin' it rhaand t'hoile, t'train stopp'd at
Kilwick Station, fer t'maister an' t