The Sharrows Pool

The Sharrows Pool

Cum squirley fronde, and mak us to th’town
For Saturdaye the eve is mishieve made
Ond pull we meight, a payre of slapperes down
Ye Club, which art for pleassieurs gettynge layed.

Halfland, stoole ‘n fauncey, trippyinge lowe,
Groolyn scroot verkomm ye krakense klarne
That mak’s withal thy feete ond fyngeres glowe,
Anent yon mayden givv’n lengthye spanne!

Thrayles ye faunings, of yon krinnon glaydes –
Ond fraunce fir komminge offa awl th’playce –
Maund gutte ye owte frem hear, whan awl thou makst
Art bellowinge thro’ all th’livelonge nyghte.

Wot art esplawle a couche thee wot not of,
Whan cometh morn ond thou art overhongye,
Ov grayte excess, ond laagyr layced ov meade –
Whome feycke’knoweth wot vagabonde hath pawred.

Ne maire anon, we seth unto oursalve.
Fro’ this daye on shalt pysse-oppe be eschewed.
But wot ye well, anonder tyme shall comme,
Whan sayke, the Sharrows Poole beckonne agayne.