Classic Poem

Come all you married couples gay,
Get up before the break of day,
To Dunmow then pray haste away,
To gain the flitch of bacon.
There is such pleasure, mirth and glee,
The married folks will have a spree,
They'll try for love and victory
And the Dunmow flitch of bacon.

So lads and lasses haste away,
And do not make the least delay,
And to Dunmow town pray haste away,
And carry off the bacon.

There's special trains for distant parts,
Young and old, with joyful hearts,
In coaches, gigs and donkey carts,
Have come to the flitch of bacon.

Sound the trumpets, beat the drums,
See how the lads and lasses run,
To Burton's meadow they have come
To view the flitch of bacon.

A man and wife must married be
Just a twelvemonth and a day,
And never have a quarrel they say
To get the flitch of bacon.
And when they gain the prize, we hear,
They'll carry them round the town on a chair,
And give them many a lusty cheer,
And show the flitch of bacon.

There's a grand procession through the town,
And Mr Smith, he has come down,
We'll drink his health in glasses round —
Success to the flitch of bacon.
Young men and maids like summer bees,
We'll roam beneath the shady trees.
Come marry me quick now, if you please,
And next year we'll get the bacon.

Some will laugh, and some will shout,
Some on the grass will roll about,
While smart young men, without a doubt,
Will dance with the pretty ladies.
Bands of music sweetly play,
Smart young men and maidens gay,
To Burton's meadow they will stray
To talk of the flitch of bacon.

The velocipedes will races run,
The fight with clowns will cause some fun,
And maypole dancing will be done,
To please the folks of Dunmow.
There's Punch and Judy, all so gay,
The clowns they will at cricket play,
To the circus the folks will haste away,
To see Bluebeard at Dunmow!

Now when the sport it is all done,
And the flitch of bacon carried home,
Some scores will to the pop-shop run,
With bolsters, quilts and blankets;
Coats and waistcoats, gowns and shawls,
Shirts, chignons and parasols,
Will have to go to the golden balls
To pay for the spree at Dunmow.

So now to finish up my lay,
Take my advice, young ladies gay,
Get married now without delay,
And try for the flitch of bacon,
For the Essex ladies they are so sly,
And you had better mind your eye,
Or next year you may have a girl or a boy
Marked with a flitch of bacon!