Yo were but a little un, Crowner my lad,
When th' huntsman he said yo'd be t' spit o' yo'r dad,
An' now yo're a big un, an' Spring comin' round,
Time's come for partin', lad! — mak' a good hound!
I thowt I'd ne'er rear yo, lad, six month ago,
But I'se warrant to-day yo'll be pick out o' t' show.
Yo're wick an' yo're gradely, as ever was found,
An' time's come for partin', lad! — mak' a good hound!
There's noan o' our folk but'll miss yo to-neet,
Th' owd slat o' your tongue, lad, an' pat o' your feet,
An' th' childer'll fair cry for thee, marlockin' round; —
But time's come for partin', lad! — mak' a good hound!
Eh, t' pots 'at yo've broken, lad, tongue cannot tell,
But yo're reet sort o' stuff, lad, we know it fu' well:
Yo'll stand up wi' t' best on 'em, ay, I'se be bound,
An' time's come for partin', lad! — mak' a good hound!
From LANCASHIRE HUNTING SONGS AND OTHER MOORLAND LAYS, by Cicely Fox Smith, published by J. E. Cornish, Ltd., Manchester, UK, © 1909, pp. 15-16, and originally published in Country Life magazine.
The breeder would raise the puppies and then put them up for sale at the local fair (in this case a spring fair). Only the biggest of Hunts would have a single pack under the charge of a paid houndsman.
In the modern tongue I believe this would be:
You were only a little one, Crowner my lad,
When the huntsman he said you'd be the image of your dad,
And now you're a big one, and the spring coming round,
Time's come for parting, lad! Make a good hound!
I thought I'd never rear you, lad, six month ago,
But I'll warrant to-day you'll be the pick of the show.
You're fast and you're good, as ever was found,
And time's come for parting, lad! Make a good hound!
There's none of our folk but will miss you tonight,
The old lick of your tongue, lad, an' pat of your feet,
An' the children will loudly cry for you, prancing around;
But time's come for parting, lad! Make a good hound!
Oh, the pots that you've broken, lad, tongue cannot tell,
But you're the right sort of stuff, lad, we know it full well:
You'll stand up with the best of them, aye, I'll be bound,
And time's come for parting, lad! Make a good hound!
Jim Saville
Adding your comment:
