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The Pride of the Lancashire Witches (From an old ballad sheet sold in the streets)
In: Old Lancashire Tales, by Frank Hird, selected and edited by Cliff Hayes. Book Clearance Centre, Unit 2-8 Fishergate Centre, Preston PH1 8HJ.
2000 ed. ISBN: 1 899181 07 5
This fine poem is sung to a cracking tune by Mark Dowding, who'se CD can be bought for English Pounds. Strictly speaking it is not in Lancashire dialect, although the language is somewhat dated, but it is evidently a genuine Lancashire song and since it’s such a pleasure to sing, onto my site it goes. It is in the tradition of ‘The Lancashire Witch’ – a pretty girl can ‘bewitch’ the boys. The Pride of the Lancashire Witches
In vain I attempt to describe
The charms of my favourite fair;
She’s the sweetest of Mother Eve’s tribe,
With her there is none to compare.
She’s a pride of beauty so bright,
Her image my fancy enriches;
My charmer’s the village delight,
And the pride of the Lancashire witches.
Then hurrah for the Lancashire witches,
Whose smile every bosom enriches,
Oh dearly I prize
The pretty blue eyes
Of the pride of the Lancashire witches.
They may talk of the dark eyes of Spain –
‘Tis useless to boast as they do –
They attempt to compare them in vain
With the Lancashire ladies of blue.
Only view the dear heavenly belles,
You’re soon seized with love’s sudden twitches,
Which none could create but the spells
From the eyes of the Lancashire witches.
Then hurrah for the Lancashire witches,
Whose smile every bosom enriches,
Oh dearly I prize
The pretty blue eyes
Of the pride of the Lancashire witches.
The Lancashire witches, believe me,
Are beautiful, every one;
But mine, or my fancy deceives me,
Is the prettiest under the sun.
If the wealth of the Indies, I swear,
Were mine, and I wallowed in riches,
How gladly my future I’d share
With the pride of the Lancashire witches.
Then hurrah for the Lancashire witches,
Whose smile every bosom enriches,
Oh dearly I prize
The pretty blue eyes
Of the pride of the Lancashire witches.
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