On Brimscombe Becoming a Port
Oh dear! Oh dear! This a curious age is,
Alteration all the rage is –
Young and old in the stream are moving,
All in the general cry improving,
From Stroudwater I’ve brought news down sirs,
For instead of mills and scarlet clothiers,
Nothing you’ll see but ships and sailors.
Thus it will be, I bet you a crown, sirs,
When Brimscombe becomes a sea-port town, sirs.
All over Brimscombe, there’ll be boats and barges,
Man-o’-war ships that never so large is,
Steamers backwards and forwards towing,
You’ll ride for nothing, and they’ll pay you for going,
Sailors swearing, spars a battering,
Heave-ye-hoing handspikes clattering,
Strange sails crowding every day, sirs,
Sailing and anchoring in Brimscombe port, sirs.
Thus it will be, I bet you a crown, sirs,
When Brimscombe becomes a sea-port town, sirs.
In a short time, you’ll have trade enough, sirs,
All over the world, you’ll send your stuff, sirs,
Goods of every clime and nation,
Will all come here for embarkation,
Machinery and cloth, coals and carrots,
In return they’ll get Polly Parrots,
Baboons, Racoons, and Spanish donkeys,
Jays, cockatoos, and ring-tailed monkeys.
Thus it will be, I bet you a crown, sirs,
When Brimscombe becomes a sea-port town, sirs.
In a few years, say, perhaps twenty,
Man-o’-ships will arrive in plenty,
Then as the tide of time approaches,
They’ll run ‘em about the street like coaches,
Over the marshes, stones and crosses,
Tars for Jarvies, Whales for Horses,
But I’ll be off, first I’ll make my bows, sirs,
For, ecod, I believe there’s a ship coming now, sirs.
Thus it will be, I bet you a crown, sirs,
When Brimscombe becomes a sea-port town, sirs.