THE COLLINGHAM GHOST.

I'LL tell ye aboot the Collingham ghost, An' a rare aud ghost was he; For he cud laff, an' he cud talk, An' run, an' jump, an' flee. He went aboot hither an' thither, An' freeten'd sum out o' thir wits, He freeten'd the parson as weel as the clark, An' lots beside them into fits. The poor aud man wha teak the towl At Collingham bar for monny a year, He dursn't cum out to opp'n his yat For fear the ghost sud be near. He teak to his bed an' there he laid, For monny a neet an' day; His yat was aulas wide opp'n thrown, An' nean ivver stopp't to pay. And Jerry wha kept the public house, An' sell'd gud yal to all, Curs'd the ghost wi' hearty gud will, For neabody stopp'd to call. It made sike a noise all round aboot, That folks com far to see; Sum sed it was a dreadful thing, An' sum sed it was a lee. Gamkeepers com wi' dogs an' guns, Thinking it was some comical beast; An' they wad aither kill him or catch him, Or drive him awa at least. Sea into Lady wood right they went Yah beautiful meenleet neet; A lot o' great men an' a lot o' ruff dogs, Enew a poor ghost to eat. They watid lang—the ghost didn't come, They began to laff an' rail,— "If he cum oot ov hiz den," says yan, "We'll clap a bit o' saut ov hiz tail." "Nay he knoos better then turn oot, When we are here to watch him, He'd git a bullit through his lug, Or Mungo there wad catch him." When close to their heads wi' a terrible clatter The ghost went wherrin up, An' ower the woods he lafft an' shoutid, "Bobo, bobo! who whoop, who whoop!" The gamkeepers all tummled doon, Their hair thrast off their hat, They gaped an' grean'd an' roll'd aboot, An' their hearts went pit-a-pat. Thir feaces were white as onny clout, An' they sed nivver a word, They cudn't tell what the ghost was like, Whether 'twas a beast or a bird. They stay'd nea langer i' th' wood that neet, Poor men were nivver dafter, They ran awa hame as fast as they cud, An' thir dogs ran yelping after. The parson then, a larned man, Sed he wad conjur the ghost; He was sure it was nea wandrin beast, But a spirit that was lost. All languages this parson knew That onny man can chat in, The Ebrew, Greek, an' Irish too, As weel as Dutch an' Latin. O! he cud talk an' read an' preach, Few men knew mair or better, An' nearly all the bukes he read, Wer printed in black letter. He read a neet, he read a day, To mak him fit for his wark, An' when he thowt he was quite up, He sent for the awd clark. The clark was quickly by his side, He took but little fettlin, An' awa they went wi' right gud will To gie the ghost a settlin. Aye off they set wi' all thir might, Nor stoppt at thin or thick, The parson wi' his sark an' buke, The clark wi' a thick stick. At last by t' side o' th' bank they stoppt Where Wharfe runs murmrin clear, A beautiful river breet an' fine, As onny in wide Yorkshire. The parson then began to read, An' read full loud an' lang, The rabbits they ran in an' oot, An' wonder'd what was rang. The ghost was listnin in a hole, An' oot he bang'd at last, The fluttrin o' his mighty wings, Was like a whirlwind blast. He lafft an' shooted as he flew Until the wild woods rang; His who-who-whoop was nivver heard Sea lood an' clear, an' strang. The parson he fell backwards ower Into a bush o' whins, An' lost his buke, an' rave his sark, An' prickt his hans an' shins. The clark he tried to run awa But tumm'ld ower his stick, An' there he made a nasty smell While he did yell an' fick. An' lots o' pranks this ghost he play'd That here I dar'nt tell, For if I did folks wad declare I was as ill as his-sel. For eighteen[246] months an' mair he stay'd, An' just did as he thowt; For lord nor duke, parson nor clark, He fear'd, nor cared nowt. Efter that time he went awa, Just when it pleas'd his-sel; But what he was, or whar he com fra Nea mortal man can tell.