For sighs an’ tears an’ doubts an’ fears Prevails with greatest folly, For th’ sinagog hez cockt its clog, An’ th’ parson’s melancholy. Tunnils sink an’ navvies drink, An’ chapels are upsetting; For railway shares nobody cares, An’ iverybody’s fretting. The iron horse they curse of course, An’ fane wud it abondon, An’ loyer’ fees thair pockets ease, A thousand pounds i’ Londen. Misfortunes speed as rank as weed, An’ puts on such a damper, Wal th’ foaks declare i’ great despair, It’s up wi’ th’ iron tramper. The Volunteers prick up thair ears, An’ mack a famos rattle; They want to run to Wimbledon, Or onny field o’ battle. Thair black cravats an’ toppen’d hats Are causin’ grate attraction; ’Gainst Bonepart they want to start, I’ regular fightin’ action. The raw recuits hev got thair suits, Thay brag to one another, To th’ first campaign thay’l tak th’ train Without the slightest bother. But hasumiver, it’s gotten to th’ last stage na, an’ foak is very impashent for it to come up, an’ thay are preparin’ to give it a grand recepshun; one oud woman hes a peggy tub full o’ meal an’ saar swillings for th’ ingen, an’ thay are preparin for th’ passengers fra Keighla. Thayr standin’ i’ groups an’ livin’ i’ hopes, An’ more disappointments thay dread, Wi’ thayr ears touchin’ th’ graand, thay’ve harkened for th’ saand, Wal thay’ve omust gone wrong i’ thair head. Sez Dick o’ Grate Beckers, just keep up yor peckers, Yo’ hevn’t much longer to wait, For blue milk an’ porridge, yo’ll get better forridge, Wen th’ railway gets fairly agait. For it’s labour i’ vain to harken for th’ train Wen all’s goin’ on varry steady; So pray yo be calm, its takkin no harm, Thay’ll bring it as soin as it’s ready. For th’ rails are all laid, an’ thair’s nowt to be made, Nobbut th’ navvies to clear off all th’ muck; Then all ’ll be going, for the Cowinhead mooin Is baan to be browt on a truck. So Sham o’ Blue Bills, wi’ thi pints and thi gills, It’s baan to be better for thee, To Keighla an’ back tha ma go in a crack, Wen tha’s baan on a bit of a spree. An’ John o’ Pot Anns, tha mun alter thi plans, For tha niver can get ’em i’ force; For I’m happy to tell at astead o’th’ canal They’re baan to try th’ big iron horse. Thare’s oud Jim o’ Tyas is baan to be wise, An’ th’ foak sez at he’s takkin a hig; He’ll see it first tried afore he will ride, He’s daan abaat th’ paper mill brig. He sez he’ll be sure, it dropt in before, An’ it might do again for a pinch; For he sez they’ll be kapt if some on ems trapt, So he’s blest if he’ll trust it an inch.