Come all you lads and lasses|
To my ditty lend an ear
Do you know the rogues have done away
With poor old Greenwich Fair.
When at Easter and at Witsuntide
We used to go so gay
By Wind and steam so merrily
To pass dull care away.
Now at Easter and at Witsuntide
No more we shall repair,
Oh cruel was the rogues who done
Away with Greenwich fair.
We used to go to Greenwich fair
And there have such a lark
To see the pretty maidens rolling
Down through Greenwich park,
Then into the swings they hasten
And go flying in the air,
There was never such a pretty place
As poor old Greenwich fair.
There was roasted pigs and nanny-goats
In Greenwich fair was sold,
There was hats and ladies' bustles trim'd
With Callefornia gold,
There was lovely cocks and bretches
Saveloys & hot pea soup
Three sticks a penny in the hole
And pricking in the loop.
What lots of fun and humour used
To be at Greenwich fair
There was Billy Punch and Judy too
In all their glory there.
There was firing at the target
And lollypops to sell,
And private rooms for ladies
To play at Bagatelle.
I never shall forget the time
And I'm sure will never you
When old Brown upon his salt box
Used to play the rat too.
Last Friday night the baker's wife|
Did solemnly declare,
She saw the ghost of Billy Richardson
Dancing round the fair.
She saw the ghost of Algiers too,
Which made old doughy jump
He had eleven gas lamps
Hanging to his rump.
She saw old Woombell's elephant
Dancing in the dark
And then upon the fair grounds met
The ghost of Billy Clark.
Nine pretty maids in Greenwich Park
One Easter I did see,
Who wished to look and see a cock
Climb up a chestnut tree,
But what a lark, the bough it broke
And they could not hold fast
When down they came upon their bums
A rolling on the grass.
Oh cruel was the naughty rogues
How could they ever dare
To sign a long petition
To kill old Greenwich fair.
May they never see a comfort,
May they never taste a nut,
May they die upon the river
With a scratcher in their gut.
Old Greenwich was delightful when
The shop boys were let loose,
The Barber sold his lather box,
The tailor sold his goose,
The cobbler sold his lapstone
To banish grief and care,
And Sally pawned her linen smock
To go to Greenwich fair.
Then weep you lads and lasses,
Lie down and shed a tear,
And cry oh dear we never more
Shall see old greenwich fair.
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