OR, FACTS AND FUN FOR THE FOREST FROLICKERS. BY A FAMED FIRST FRIDAY FAIRGOER. A DAY of fun and jollity.— Tom Thumb . Contains Memoirs, Anecdotes, Poems, Songs, &c. with the curious Will of Mr. Day, never before printed. A VERY LIMITED NUMBER PRINTED. TOTHAM : PRINTED AT CHARLES CLARK’S PRIVATE PRESS. FAIRLOP’S FRIDAY , 1847....

THIS curious and interesting account, written by a gentleman of Essex, intimate with one of the descendants of Mr. Daniel Day, will afford us an instance of its being in the power of almost every man, to add to the felicity of his neighbours and fellow creatures.  The subject before us, though in the middling rank of life, for a series of years had the gratification to see the hearts of hundreds annually rejoiced and made glad, by his means, around the old Oak, and thousands to this time assembl

( NEVER BEFORE PRINTED .) Extracted from the Registry of the Prerogative Court of Canterbury. In the Name of God , Amen . I, DANIEL DAY, of the Parish of Saint John, Wapping, in the County of Middlesex, late Block and Pump Maker, do hereby revoke all former Wills by me at any time heretofore made, and do make and declare this to be my last Will and Testament.  I desire to be decently buried in Barking Church Yard, in the County of Essex, at the discretion of my Executors hereinafter named.  And

COME lovers of doggrel, come lovers of sport, Haste here—at the bidding of Momus resort, And toss up your “toppers” ten feet in the air, Since we’ve had a fair day for the Day of our Fair. Sure, Jove at our bidding fulfill’d our desire, And each rider, each walker, each seller, and buyer, Of pleasure and profit came in for their share, As they hail’d the fair day, on the Day of the Fair. If the Satyrs and Fawns were unseen in the dance, And the Dryads themselves look’d a little askance, Yet the

(REPRINTED VERBATIM.) COME to Fairlop Fair; we good fellows invite; So partake of that day, which is our delight; For we have spirits like fire; our courage is good; And we meet with the best of respect on the road; When you see us, you’ll say we are mounted quite gay;— Success to the lads, that delight in that day.    Haste away, haste away; all nature seems gay,    Let us drink to the joys of old Fairlop so gay! Our horses are all of the very best blood; Our boat is well built, and her rigging

LADS, let us jovial float Merry in our tight-rigg’d boat; Our Pilot so gay with badge and coat    Shall tow us along: The music shall so sweetly play, And all shall be so blithe and gay;    We’ll laugh and joke,    And drink and smoke, And join the cheerful song.          Lads, let us, &c. On the first Friday after June, Like the birds, we’re in full tune; We rise up in the morning soon,    Our neat boat to trim. From St. George’s turnpike we do start, And with joy from home depart,    M

( Exhibiting the Dialect of the Peasantry of Essex .) AIR—“The Teetotaller.” BY CHARLES CLARK, OF TOTHAM. YOUN’ SIMON ov Fairlop , a noice steady lad was he, The jouy ov his moather—the proide ov his dad was he; An’, as a ploughmun, folks say, yow scace ever ded Clap oyes upun one wot his wark hafe so clever ded. To “come oup” to him, all his mates, they bestirrers wor, For straight—proper straight uns—they spied all his thurrars wor; But, our Simon, nut onny at ploughin’ excel ded he, If he sew

(REPRINTED VERBATIM.) COME, come, my boys, with a hearty glee, To Fairlop Fair—bear chorus with me; At Hainault Forest, ’tis known very well, This famous Oak has long borne the bell.       Let music sound, as the boat goes round;       If we tumble on the ground, we’ll be merry, I’ll be bound,       We will booze it away; dull care we’ll defy,       And be happy on the first Friday in July. To Hainault Forest Queen Anne she did ride, And beheld the beautiful Oak by her side; And, after viewing i

AIR,—“The Maypole.” BY JOHN LABERN. LAST Fairlop Fair—to drive away care,    To toddle there we swore— There was ugly Bob, and Sam the snob,    And five and twenty more. Pat Murphy promised Fair ,    So him we couldn’t doubt— And what was pleasant, I declare,    Our mothers let us out.  Tol lol, &c. A cart and horse we hired, in course,    Of Costermonger Joe— Who swore the nag was like a stag,    A regular good ’un to go. We took him at his word,    And paid a suvverin down, And away we