FAIRLOPIAN POEMS AND SONGS

COME lovers of doggrel, come lovers of sport, Haste here—at the bidding of Momus resort, And toss up your “toppers” ten feet in the air, Since we’ve had a fair day for the Day of our Fair.

Sure, Jove at our bidding fulfill’d our desire, And each rider, each walker, each seller, and buyer, Of pleasure and profit came in for their share, As they hail’d the fair day, on the Day of the Fair.

If the Satyrs and Fawns were unseen in the dance, And the Dryads themselves look’d a little askance, Yet the beaux and the belles throng’d in many a pair, Nor thought of an absence from Fairlop the Fair.

Pedestrians—equestrians—vehiculars—all Of splendor or merriment kept up the ball; And Venus herself, or else some to compare, Adorn’d the fair day, and the Day of the Fair.

How delightful the scene!—how great were the joys Of the saunt’rers, and simp’rers, and venders of toys; And the lov’d and the lovely of each had their share, And enjoy’d the fair day, and the Day of the Fair.

Not more had there been of din, frolic, and fun, Had Bacchus been present, bestriding his tun; And Mercury himself had his followers there, Who hail’d the fair day, and the Day of the Fair.

’Tis certain at evening Diana look’d down, And eclipsed in a trice all the gas-lights in Town; Whilst our taverns, though brilliant, shone forth in despair, As the night drew her curtain of cloud round the Fair.

Then, lovers of doggrel, and lovers of sport, Next year at the bidding of Momus resort; And Apollo himself shall in future repair, And still give a fair day for the Day of our Fair.

COME to Fairlop Fair; we good fellows invite; So partake of that day, which is our delight; For we have spirits like fire; our courage is good; And we meet with the best of respect on the road; When you see us, you’ll say we are mounted quite gay;— Success to the lads, that delight in that day. Haste away, haste away; all nature seems gay, Let us drink to the joys of old Fairlop so gay!

Our horses are all of the very best blood; Our boat is well built, and her rigging is good. With our boats and our badges we unanimous declare, And join hand in hand, to support the old Fair; We’ll jovially sing, and our music shall play, And a set of staunch ponies will tow us away. Haste away, haste away, &c.

’Twas one Daniel Day, that first founded this Fair, And as hearty a fellow as ever was there; The Lord of the Manor a Charter did gain, And all true sons of Neptune will uphold the same; We’ll enjoy all the pleasure that springs from that day, And ever remember good old Daniel Day. Haste away, haste away, &c.

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!

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.

YOUN’ SIMON ov Fairlop, a noice steady lad was he, The jouy ov his moather—the proide ov his dad was he; An’, as a ploughmun, folks say, yow scace ever ded Clap oyes upun one wot his wark hafe so clever ded.

To “come oup” to him, all his mates, they bestirrers wor, For straight—proper straight uns—they spied all his thurrars wor; But, our Simon, nut onny at ploughin’ excel ded he, If he sew, rep, or mew, stell the same, oh! so well ded he!

Stron’ an’ clunchy was Simon, an’ noice carlly hair he had, With health’s tint on his chakes, through the dale ov fresh air he had: With a charriter gud, ne’er lack “dubs” in his puss ded he,— Ollis “bobbish” an’ gay, long pass his loife thus ded he.

Howsomever, this genus—this lad ov ability— Soon foun’ a sad stup put to all his tranquillity; For into his heart soon much fudder love’s urrars went, Thun into the mouls e’er the teeth ov his hurrars went!

All the cause ov his troubles, ’twas werry soon sin, they say,— He had so fell in love with one fair Dorcas Winn, they say; Such a noice gal was Dorcas, the chaps all look’d sloy at her, An’, poor Simon, he too, had oft caist a ship’s eye at her.

Quoite the proide ov the willage this naarbour’s gud darter was, Whoile for some toime our Simon’s wesh her to “goo arter” was; An’ that wot cud nut be at some oather places done, Was—in wuds nut so wusser—at Fairlop with graces done!

Nation plased now was Simon—his sithin’ was banish’d quoite; To his gal he’d “struck oup,” an’, his fares, they had wanish’d quoit: His Dorcas’s conduct, oh! now it was such, he ded E’en begin to hev thotes ov the axin’ at chutch, he ded!

Our Simon an’ Dorcas, stell yit at the Fair wor they— Now sot down in some “Tavin,” quoite free from all care wor they: Where there was such guzzlin’, an’ such ham-an’-wealin’ it,— Whoile many loike blazes kept on toe-an’-heelin’ it.

At Fairlop, the pair, oup an’ down long parade ded they, An’ oyed all the “soights”—all the wonders display’d ded they; ’Ginst the shows, with mouth opun, our Simon, long stan’ ded he, Tell, ov coas, into etch, with much grace, his lass han’ ded he!

Whoile at Fairlop, poor Dorcas, once or twoice rayther frown’d had she, For, somehows, so dartied her best yallar gownd had she; An’, our Simon, some chaps there to bouy ded beset him so, He at last ded agree, when he foun’—they had chet him so!

To be oaf frum their “Tavin” quoite toime it now gittin’ was,— ’Sides, there was such a tarnation smudge where etch sittin’ was: So when ’mong the stawls they had had a shote roam agin, Frum the Forest they trapsed on to Dorcas’s home agin.

When snoug frum the boustle, fond Simon, full oft ded he, “To her head,” tell his love such a kit ov things “soft” ded he; An’ his Dorcas, she trusted—(but wot lover do less ded he?)— That he’d soon come agin—for wot, Simon, guess ded he!

A few moanths arter this, our pair, made but one wor they, “Tied oup,” one foine moarn, by some grave Levi’s son wor they; An’, by the smoile on etch face—so yow’d guess it stell— Their trip to oad Fairlop, much cause they’ve to bless it stell!

COME, come, my boys, with a hearty glee, To Fairlop Fair—bear chorus with me; At Hainault Forest, ’tis known very well, This famous Oak has long borne the bell. Let music sound, as the boat goes round; If we tumble on the ground, we’ll be merry, I’ll be bound, We will booze it away; dull care we’ll defy, And be happy on the first Friday in July.

To Hainault Forest Queen Anne she did ride, And beheld the beautiful Oak by her side; And, after viewing it from the bottom to the top, She said to her Court, that it was Fair-lop! It is eight fathoms round, spreads an acre of ground; They plaster’d it round, to keep the Tree sound; So we’ll booze it away; dull care we’ll defy, And be happy on the first Friday in July.

About a century ago, as I have heard say, This Fair it was kept by one Daniel Day, As hearty a good fellow as ever there could be; His coffin was made of a limb of the Tree. With black-strap and sherry, he made his friends merry, All sorrows for to drown in brandy, rum, and perry; So they boozed it away; dull care we will defy, And be happy on the first Friday in July.

At Hainault old Forest there standeth a tree, And round it have been dances, mirth, pranks, and glee; It is surrounded with woods, lawns, and plains, Where the merry little warblers pour forth their sweet strains. So we’ll dance round the Tree, and merry we will be; Every year we’ll agree the fair Fair for to see; And we’ll booze it away; dull care we will defy, And be happy on the first Friday in July.

LAST Fairlop Fair—to drive away care, To toddle there we swore— There was ugly Bob, and Sam the snob, And five and twenty more. Pat Murphy promised Fair, So him we couldn’t doubt— And what was pleasant, I declare, Our mothers let us out. Tol lol, &c.

A cart and horse we hired, in course, Of Costermonger Joe— Who swore the nag was like a stag, A regular good ’un to go. We took him at his word, And paid a suvverin down, And away we toddled, toddled, toddled, And hook’d it out of town. Tol lol, &c.

Sam wore whites, and Bob wore tights, With a spicy long-tail’d blue, While all the rest were up and drest In toggery “petter as new.” Besides, it was agreed By Sam and ugly Bobby, A nosegay we should wear apiece, To make us all look nobby. Tol lol, &c.

Away we went, on pleasure bent, As hard as we could trot— The horse look’d bold, no wives did scold, But the sun was werry hot. The perspiration roll’d, The ladies’ colours run, Which clearly proved, and no mistake, They’d all been in the sun. Tol lol, &c.

A treat, I’m blow’d, ’twas, down the road, To see him gallop hard, When all at once, the stupid dunce, He wouldn’t stir a yard. We give it him over the nob, And whopp’d him on the flank— But, lord! you might as well have tried To move the precious Bank. Tol lol, &c.

The people laugh’d, and jeer’d and chaff’d, As down the road they pass’d— Though we were first, says Bob, I’m cursed If we shan’t be the last. We shoved away behind, And so did Bob’s fat mother— But as fast as we could shove one way, The hunter shoved the other. Tol lol, &c.

At last, cried Sam, “I’ve got a plan!” Then a bunch of carrots ties To the end of a stick—an artful trick— And fix’d ’em afore his eyes. Away the hunter went With his precious livin’ load, When all at once the tail fell down, And spilt us in the road. Tol lol, &c.

The women bawl’d—the babbies squall’d, We book’d ourselves for dead— Some were hurt, and choked with dirt, And some pitch’d on their head. The grub got spoilt, on which Our hopes did so depend; And the goosegog pie had all got jamm’d By Bobby’s latter end. Tol lol, &c.

By the time we’d quite got o’er our fright, The folks were coming back,— So we got done out of our fun, Through the precious lazy hack. Next time we pleasuring went, We swore with all our rage, If we couldn’t get a better horse, We’d go by the Marrowbone stage. Tol lol, &c.