Then the vicar discharged his duty, Without either reward or fee, Declaring no money he’d have; And poor Arthur he’d none to give: So, to make him a little amends, He invited him home with his friends, To have a sweet kiss at the bride, And eat a good dinner beside. The dishes, though few, were good, And the sweetest of animal food: First, a roast guinea-pig and a bantam, A sheep’s head stewed in a lanthorn, {141} Two calves’ feet, and a bull’s trotter, The fore and hind leg of an otter, With craw-fish, cockles, and crabs, Lump-fish, limpets, and dabs, Red herrings and sprats, by dozens, To feast all their uncles and cousins; Who seemed well pleased with their treat, And heartily they did all eat, For the honour of Arthur O’Bradley! O! rare Arthur O’Bradley! wonderful Arthur O’Bradley! Sweet Arthur O’Bradley, O! Now, the guests being well satisfied, The fragments were laid on one side, When Arthur, to make their hearts merry, Brought ale, and parkin, {142} and perry; When Timothy Twig stept in, With his pipe, and a pipkin of gin. A lad that was pleasant and jolly, And scorned to meet melancholy; He would chant and pipe so well, No youth could him excel. Not Pan the god of the swains, Could ever produce such strains; But Arthur, being first in the throng, He swore he would sing the first song, And one that was pleasant and jolly: And that should be ‘Hence, Melancholy!’ ‘Now give me a dance,’ quoth Doll, ‘Come, Jeffrery, play up Mad Moll, ’Tis time to be merry and frisky,— But first I must have some more whiskey.’ ‘Oh! you’re right,’ says Arthur, ‘my love! My daffy-down-dilly! my dove! My everything! my wife! I ne’er was so pleased in my life, Since my name it was Arthur O’Bradley!’ O! rare Arthur O’Bradley! wonderful Arthur O’Bradley! Sweet Arthur O’Bradley, O! Then the piper he screwed up his bags, And the girls began shaking their rags; First up jumped old Mother Crewe, Two stockings, and never a shoe. Her nose was crookèd and long, Which she could easily reach with her tongue; And a hump on her back she did not lack, But you should take no notice of that; And her mouth stood all awry, And she never was heard to lie, For she had been dumb from her birth; So she nodded consent to the mirth, For honour of Arthur O’Bradley. O! rare Arthur O’Bradley! wonderful Arthur O’Bradley! Sweet Arthur O’Bradley, O!