Off the Ground

Three jolly FarmersOnce bet a poundEach dance the others wouldOff the ground.Out of their coatsThey slipped right soon,And neat and nicesome,Put each his shoon.One - Two - Three! -And away they go,Not too fast,And not too slow;Out from the elm-tree'sNoonday shadow,Into the sunAnd across the meadow.Past the schoolroom,With knees well bentFingers a-flicking,They dancing went.Up sides and over,And round and round,They crossed click-clacking,The Parish bound,By Tupman's meadowThey did their mile,Tee-t-tumOn a three-barred stile.Then straight through Whipham,Downhill to Week,Footing it lightsome,But not too quick,Up fields to Watchet,And on through Wye,Till seven fine churchesThey'd seen skip by -Seven fine churches,And five old mills,Farms in the valley,And sheep on the hills;Old Man's AcreAnd Dead Man's PoolAll left behind,As they danced through Wool.And Wool gone by,Like tops that seemTo spin in sleepThey danced in dream;Withy - Wellover -Wassop-Wo-Like an old clockTheir heels did go.A league and a leagueAnd a league they went,And not one weary,And not one spent.And Io, and behold!Past Willow-cum-LeighStretched with its watersThe great green sea.Says Farmer Bates,I puffs and I blows,What's under the water,Why, no man knows!'Says Farmer Giles,'My wind comes weak,And a good man drowndedIs far to seek.'But Farmer Turvey,On twirling toesUp's with his gaiters,And in he goes:Down where the mermaidsPluck and playOn their twangling harpsIn a sea-green day;Down where the mermaids,Finned and fair,Sleek with their combsTheir yellow hair....Bates and Giles-On the shingle sat,Gazing at Turvey'sFloating hat.But never a rippleNor bubble toldWhere he was suppingOff plates of gold.Never an echoRilled through the seaOf the feasting and dancingAnd minstrelsy.They called-called-called:Came no reply:Nought but the ripples'Sandy sigh.Then glum and silentThey sat instead,Vacantly broodingOn home and bed,Till both togetherStood up and said.-'Us knows not, dreams not,Where you be,Turvey, unlessIn the deep blue sea;But axcusing silver-And it comes most willing -Here's us two payingOur forty shilling;For it's sartin sure, Turvey,Safe and sound,You danced us square, Turvey,Off the ground!'