But sighs and tears and doubts and fears

But sighs and tears and doubts and fears, Prevails with greatest folly, For ’t sinagog has cockt its clog, And ’t parson’s melancholy.

Tunnils sink and navvies drink, And chapels are upsetting; For Railway Shares nobody cares, And iverybody’s fretting.

The iron horse they curse of course, And fane wud it abandon; And loyers fees their pockets ease, A thousand pound e Lundun.

Misfortunes speed as rank as weed, An’ puts on sich a damper; Wal t’ foaks declare e grate dispair, Its up wi’t iron tramper.

The volunteers prick up their ears, An mak a famos rattle; Thay want ta run ta Wimbleton, Or onny field o’ battle.

Their black cravats an toppen’d hats Are causing grate attraction; Against Boneypart thay want ta start, E reglar fightin action.

The raw recuits hev got ther suits, Thay brag ta wun another: Ta’t first campaign thay’l tak the train, Withaat the sliteist bother.

But t’ oud foak thinks thair’l be some stinks, At menshun of invazhun; An hopes et taan will ride em daan, E cabs ta Howorth Stashun.