This version was taken down at Canon Bourne's direction by schoolmistress from the village players about 1864. There was dance by John Finney and two others to the tune of Not for Jo, played by Cleverlegs on the mouth-organ.
John Finney.
A room, room, roust, roust
I brought this old broom to sweep your house.
Father Christmas.
In comes old Father Christmas, Christmas or Christmas not
I hope old Father Christmas will never be forgot.
I am not here to laugh or to cheer,
But all want is pocket full of money and cellar full of beer.
So, Ladies and gentlemen, if you don't believe what say,
Step in Turkish Knight and clear the way.
Turkish Knight.
Open your doors and let me in
For your favour am sure to win.
Whether rise or whether fall
I do my best to please you all.
For King George is here and swears he will come in,
And if he do he'll pierce me to my skin.
So, Ladies and gentlemen, if you don't believe what say,
Step in King George and clear the way.
King George.
I am King George, this noble Knight
Came from foreign lands to fight
To fight that fiery dragon who is so bold
And cut him down with his blood cold.
Turkish Knight.
Who's he who seeks the Dragon's blood
And curse so angry and so loud?
King George.
I'm he who seeks the Dragon's blood
And curse so angry and so loud.
Turkish Knight.
You, you black-looking English dog, will you before me stand?
I'll cut thee down with my courageous hand.
With my long teeth and scurry jaws break up half score
And stay my stomach till mourn.
So to battle to battle and you and will try
To see which on the ground shall lie.
Father Christmas.
Oh is there doctor to be found or any near at hand
To heal this deep and deadly wound and make this dead man stand.
Doctor.
Oh yeas, here is doctor to be found all ready near at hand
To heal this deep and deadly wound and make this dead man stand.
Take one of my pills, bold fellow, rise up and fight again.
Turkish Knight and King George Fight.
Father Christmas.
Oh is there doctor to be found or any near at hand
To heal this deep and deadly wound and make this dead man stand?
Doctor.
Oh yes, here is doctor to be found all ready near at hand
To heal this deep and deadly wound and make this dead man stand.
Ladies and gentlemen, all here large wolf's tooth growing in this man's head and must be taken out before he'll recover.
Father Christmas.
What's thy fee Doctor ?
Doctor.
Ten guineas is my fee,
But fifteen will take of thee.
Before set this gallant free.
Father Christmas.
Work thy will, Doctor.
Doctor.
I will. Where's Jack?
John Finney.
Oh yer's Jack. Jack's coming.
Doctor.
Hold my horse, Jack Finney.
John Finney.
My name ain't Jack Finney, my name's Mr. John Finney, man of great strength. Cured an old magpie of the toothache, twisted his old yud off, thronged his body in dry ditch and drowned him;? went off the morrow about nine days after, picks up this little yud magpie, romed my arm down his throat, turned him inside outwards, and made as good magpie as ever walked in pair of patters.
Doctor.
Hold my hoss, Mr. John Finney.
John Finney.
Will he bite ?
Doctor.
No.
John Finney.
Will he kick?
Doctor.
No.
John Finney.
Take tow to hold him?
Doctor.
No.
John Finney.
Hold him yourself then.
Doctor.
What's that, you saucy young rascal?
John Finney.
Oh, hold him, sir.
Doctor.
Give him bucket of ashes and fusket for his supper and well rrrrom down with the bissum stick.
John Finney.
Do it yerself, sir.
Doctor.
What's that, you saucy young rascal?
John Finney.
Oh, do it, sir.
Doctor.
Bring me my spy glass, Mr. John Finney.
John Finney.
Fetch it yerself, sir.
Doctor.
What's that, you saucy young rascal?
John Finney.
Oh, fetch it, sir. There it is, sir.
Doctor.
What's throw it down there for?
John Finney.
Ah, for thee to pick it up agen, sir.
Doctor.
What's that, you saucy young rascal?
John Finney.
Oh, for me to pick it up agen, sir.
Doctor.
Fetch me my lance, John Finney.
John Finney.
Fetch it yerself, sir.
Doctor.
What's that, you saucy young rascal?
John Finney.
Oh, fetch it, sir.
Doctor.
What's throw it down there for?
John Finney.
Ah, for thee to pick it up agen, sir.
Doctor.
What's that, you saucy young rascal?
John Finney.
Ah, for me to pick it up again, sir.
Doctor.
Fetch me my pinchers, John Finney.
John Finney.
Fetch them yerself, sir.
Doctor.
What's that, you saucy young rascal?
John Finney.
Oh, fetch them, sir.
Doctor.
What's throw them down there for?
John Finney.
Ah, for thee to pick them up agen, sir.
Doctor.
What's that, you saucy young rascal?
John Finney.
Oh, for me to pick them up agen, sir.
Doctor.
Fetch me one of the strongest hoses you've got in yer team.
John Finney.
Fetch um yerself, sir.
Doctor.
What's that, you saucy young rascal?
John Finney.
Oh, I'll fetch him, sir.
John Finney brings in one of the mummers and pretends he is horse.
woe, woe, woe; woe, woe, woe.
Doctor.
You call that the strongest hoss you've got in the team?
John Finney.
That's him, sir.
Doctor.
Hold him tight then, John Finney.
John Finney.
Hold him yerself.
Doctor.
What's that, you saucy young rascal ?
John Finney.
Oh, I've got him, sir, fast by the tail.
Doctor.
Hold him fast then.
This is repeated until all the other mummers have been brought on in turn, with the exception of Father Christmas who remains in the room watching and sweeping with his broom to make fun.
Doctor.
Now boys, long pull short pull, pull all together boys. Oh, we've got him this time, John Finney. Ladies and gentlemen, all this large wolf's tooth has been growing in this man's head ninety-nine years before his great grand- mother was born: if it hadn't have been taken out to-day, he would have died yesterday. I've little bottle by my side called Eelgumpane, one spot on the roof of this man's tongue, another on his tooth, will quickly bring him to life again. Rise up, bold fellow, and fight again.
King George and the Turkish Knight fight.
Father Christmas.
Peace, peace, peace. Walk in Beelzebub.
Beelzebub.
In comes old Beelzebub
And on my back carries my club
And in my hand the dripping-pan,
I thinks myself jolly old man.
Round hole, black as coal,
Long tail and little hole.
I went up straight crooked lane. met bark and he dogged at me. went to the stick and cut hedge, gave him rallier over the yud jud killed him round stout stiff and bold from Lancashire came, if Doctor hasn't done his part, John Finney wins the game.
Last Christmas night turned the spit,
I burnt me finger and felt it itch,
The sparks flew over the table,
The pot-lid kicked the ladle,
Up jumped spit jack
Like mansion man
Swore he'd fight the dripping pan
With his long tail,
Swore he'd send them all to jail.
In comes the grid iron, if you can't agree
I'm the justice, bring um to me.
As was going along, as was standing still,
I saw wooden church built on wooden hill,
Nineteen leather bells going without clapper
That made me wonder what was the matter.
I went on bit further, came to King Charles up cast iron pear tree. He asked the way to get down. said put thee feet in the stirrup iron and pitchee poll headfust into marl pit where ninety-nine parish churches had been dug out besides few odd villages. went on bit further, came to little big house, knocked at the door and the maid fell out. She asked if could eat cup of her cider and drink hard crust of her bread and cheese. said 'No thanks, yes if yer please.' So picked up me latters and went me ways. went on bit further.
I came to two old women winnowing butter,
That made me mum mum mummer and stutter.
I went on little bit further:? came to two little whipper snappers thrashing canary seeds: one gave hard cut, the tother gen driving cut, cut sid through? wall nine foot wide killed little jed dog tother side. went of the morrow about nine days after, picks up this little jied dog, romes my arm down his throat, turned him inside outards, sent him down Buckle Street barking ninety miles long and followed after him.
John Finney.
Now my lads we've come to the land of plenty, rost stones, plum puddings, houses thatched with pancakes, and little pigs running about with knives and forks stuck in their backs crying? Who'll eat me, who'll eat me? '
Father Christmas.
Walk in clever legs.
Cleverlegs.
In comes ain't been hit.
With me big hump and little wit.
Me chump's so big, me wit's so small,
But can play you? tune to please yer all.
Father Christmas.
What tune's that then ?
Cleverlegs.
One of our old favourites tunes
Ran tan tinder box
Cat in the fiddle bag
Jonnie up up the orchard.
Father Christmas.
Let's have him the.
Now the three-handed reel takes place.
Father Christmas.
If this old frying pan had but tongue,
He'd say 'chuck in yer money and think it no wrong.'
Found in:
Tiddy R. J. E. (1923) The Mummers' Play. Oxford University press.
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