OLD MAN JOBLING.
A Catch for Singing.
Old man, old man, whither are you hobbling f Old man Jobling whither are you going— Battered hat and tattered coat and clogs in want of cobbling—
And the smell wind lowing and the mirk lift snowing ?
Young man Catchieside, and if I go a-fairing,
Who's declaring I'm too old for going—
Dressed in Sunday-best and all : and why should I be caring For the well wind lowing and the mirk lift snowing ?
Ay, but what will come of you as drifts get deep and deeper— Steep roads steeper, and your shanks too numb for going ? Happen I shall nap—I was ever a good sleeper
With the snell wind lowing and the mirk lift mowing.
Deep will be your sleep . . . It's truth you are declaring— After fairing, whichever way we're going,
Deep will be the sleep of all ; so why should we be caring For the snell wind lowing and the mirk lift mowing ?