From Wapping Old Stairs, away then we drive, When the first Friday in July does arrive; We breakfast at Woodford; at Loughton we lunch, And at our old friend’s house we’ll dine and drink punch; When our Boatswain will start us away for the Fair, While Phoebus does shine on our Colours so clear. Haste away, haste away, &c. It’s when from the Forest to Ilford we steer, Every town we go through, we will give them three Cheer! Then on our way home we will still get refreshed; Then return back to Wapping, to sup of the best; Where we’ll dance and we’ll sing so cheerful and gay, And ever remember good old Daniel Day. Haste away, haste away, &c. Now having described our boat, horses, and crew, And old Fairlop so gay, which you all may review, Our boat now comes home by the winding of caul;— And so you are welcome unto Fairlop Hall!— Our boat we’ll put by for another Fair-day, And ever remember good old Daniel Day. Haste away, haste away; all nature seems gay, Let us drink to the joys of old Fairlop so gay! EXCURSION TO FAIRLOP FAIR. (REPRINTED VERBATIM.) LADS, let us jovial float Merry in our tight-rigg’d boat; Our Pilot so gay with badge and coat Shall tow us along: The music shall so sweetly play, And all shall be so blithe and gay; We’ll laugh and joke, And drink and smoke, And join the cheerful song. Lads, let us, &c. On the first Friday after June, Like the birds, we’re in full tune; We rise up in the morning soon, Our neat boat to trim. From St. George’s turnpike we do start, And with joy from home depart, Music playing, Colours flying, Then does the fun begin. Lads, let us, &c. Then first to Ilford we do steer, And, when we have had breakfast there, Then to Romford do repair; From thence to Hornchurch go; Thence back again we go to dine, Where we booze on punch and wine, Singing, dancing, Life enhancing, For pleasure all on tip-toe. Lads, let us, &c. Then to Fairlop Fair we steer, With carriages in front and rear, Our skins quite brimful with good cheer; So mellow then we start; Then we o’er the Forest ride, Neither fearing wind nor tide, Singing, laughing, Drinking, quaffing, Merrily we glide. Lads, let us, &c. When Phœbus to the west draws near, And the feather’d race doth disappear, Then from the Forest we do steer, At Ilford awhile to stay; Then from the Angel at Ilford Merry we’re tow’d along the road; All hearty, jovial, Quite convivial,— Thus we finish the day. Lads, let us, &c. THE TRIP TO FAIRLOP; OR, A LOVER’S TRIUMPH. (_Exhibiting the Dialect of the Peasantry of Essex_.) AIR—“The Teetotaller.”