Broadfield Park Poem by William Baron

Booath for rest an' recreation,
Broadfield Park enjoys reneawn;
An' it's grondly situated,
Bein' reet i' th' heart o' th' teawn.
Talk o' th' Boulevards o' Paris!—
Or uv London's Rotten Row!
Why, for studyin' dress an' fashion,
Broadfield Park con lick 'em o!

Every week-end durin' th' summer,
Scores on scores gooa reg'lar theer;
Some, to show off what they're weearin,'
Some, to see what others weear.
' Dreams ' o' hats, an' ' ducks ' o' bonnets,—
Th' newest costumes—up to th' mark,
Yo may see i' greyt abundance,
If yo'll gooa to Broadfield Park.

Card-room lasses, weyvers, winders,
Some alone, an' some wi' mates,
Preawdly strut on' th' creawded pathways,
Just like walkin' fashion-plates.
O' th' male sex, too, ther's lots o' mashers,
An' mony a gay young factory spark
Swaggers like a two-tailed paycock,
When actin' th' swell, i' Broadfield Park.

O, but its treat to see 'em !—
An' this fact ston's varra clear:
Mony a couple, neaw united,
Owe ther fate to meetin' theer.
Oft aw've seen th' ' top-nobs ' paradin'
At Scarbro's Spa, an' Rotten Row;
But for studyin' fashion gradely,
Broadfield Park con lick 'em o!