Thaay stwuns, thaay stwuns, thaay stwuns, thaay stwuns, Thaay stwuns, thaay stwuns, _thaay stwuns_, THAAY S, T, W, U, N, S. There was a moment’s pause, during which the Doctor had much difficulty in keeping order; then the farmer got fairly under weigh, and went on-- Thaay stwuns that built Gaarge Ridler’s oven Oh, thaay cum vrom the Blakeney Quaar, And Gaarge he wur a jolly owld man, And his yead did graw above his yare. One thing in Gaarge Ridler I must commend, And I hold it vor a notable thing: He made his braags avoore he died, As wi’ any dree brothers his zons zhou’d zing. Ther’ wur Dick the treble, and Jack the mean, Let every mon zing in his auwn pleace, And Gaarge he wur the elder brother, And there-voore he would zing the base. Droo’ aal the world, owld Gaarge would bwoast, Commend me to merry owld England mwoast, While vools gwoes scamblin’ vur and nigh, We bides at whoam, my dog and I. Ov their furrin tongues let travellers brag, Wi’ their vifteen neames vor a puddin’ bag, Two tongues I knows ne’er towld a lie, And their wearers be my dog and I. My dog has got his maaster’s nose, To smell a knave droo silken hose; But when good company I spy, “Welcome,” quoth my dog and I. When I hev dree sixpences under my thumb, Oh then I be welcome wherever I cum; But when I hev none, O then I pass by; ’Tis poverty pearts good company. When I gwoes dead, as it may hap, My grave shall be under the good yeal-tap, Wi’ vaulded earmes ther’ wool I lie, Cheek by jowl my dog and I. Just as the farmer was finishing the song, Master George, with Joe and one or two more behind him, came in. He took up the last verse, and rolled it out as he came up towards our table, and a lot of the rest joined in with him; even the over-worked Peter, I could see stopping for a moment to shout that he would be buried under the tap; I dare say he meant it, only I think he would like it to be always running. Master George knew most of the people, and made us all merrier even than we were before; and in the next half-hour or so, for which time we stayed in the booth, I should think there must have been a dozen more songs sung. However, I shall only give the one which seemed to be the greatest favourite, for I find that this chapter is running very long. This song was sung by a queer little man, with a twisted face, and a lurcher dog between his knees, who I believe was an earth stopper. He called it BUTTERMILK JACK. Ther wur an owld ’oman as had but one son, And thay lived together as you med zee; And they’d nought but an owld hen as wanted to sett, Yet somehow a landlord he fain would be.