Shoot-In' Owd Turpin Poem by William Baron

No deawt yo've yerd speyk uv Owd Turpin,
' At used to live up at Pell Mell;
He wur quite an eccentric owd felley,
An' lived in a heawse bi hissel.
An* yet he wur one o' th' best cobblers
'At e'er knocked a nail in a shoe ;
An' fro' mornin' to neet he kept at it,
For he allus hed plenty to do.

Sometimes he wur that crammed an' peevish,
'At he'd even stop th' lads at ther play;
For if th' least noise wur med to disturb him,
He'd come eawt an' drive 'em away.
An' unless they wur off just that minit,
He'd gooa in witheawt mooar ado,
An' bring eawt a bucket o' wayther,
An' drench 'em o gradely weet throo.

One neet—it wur somewheer tort wakes time,
0 th' lads stood at th' corner o' th' row;
An' theer they wur talkin' o'er summat
'At seemed to be suitin' 'em o.
' Come on I—let's gooa deawn to Owd Turpin's,
For it's time 'at we geet theer,' sed one;
' 'We'll larn him for bein' so peevish,
An' pay him for o 'at he's done 1'

Wi' that, they o seet off together,
For they seemed to hev fixed on some plan ;
One carried a window squirt wi' him,
Another, red paint in a can.
Ther wur one hed some gun-caps an' peawder,
While ther ringleader carried a gun;
An' as they drew nearer to Turpin's
He sed, '• Neaw, look eawt for some fun.'

As soon as they'd getten o ready,
One went an' give th' dur a good kick,
An' up Turpin jumped fro' his cobblin',
For he never suspected ther trick.
He wur eawt o' that dur in a second,
As if he wur off on a race,
When bang!—th' gun went, o uv a sudden,
While one squirted th' paint in his face.

Owd Turpin fell deawn welly faintin',
For he rayley believed he wur shot;
An' th' nayburs could yer someb'dy groanin',
Sooa o on 'em hurried to th' spot.
One wanted to run for a doctor,
' It's no use,' Turpin moaned, ' for o's o'er!'
Sooa they carried him in on to th' sofey,
For he seemed to be covered wi' gore.

They sent reet away for some brandy,
For they thowt he wur gooin' to dee ;
Then they looked to see wheer he wur weawnded,
But nowt like a weawnd could they see.
'Just look here! ' sheawted one, wi' a titter,
Well! as true as ther's ever a saint,
We've bin tekkin' a chap to be deein',
Just becose he's bin splashed wi' red paint!'

Yo should just hev seen Turpin's amazement,
As th' folks o went laffin' away;
An' for mony a long week at th' after
He never stirred eawt, neet or day.
For a while it wur o th' talk o' th' naybura,
• An' aw'll own 'at' aw laffed hard misel,
When aw yerd 'em relate heaw Owd Turpin .
Wur shot wi' red paint at Pell Mell.