The "Horses Head" Play - The Lymm Version

Sent by Mrs. M. E. Leather of Chapel Lane, Partington to
Mrs. Yarwood of Oughtrington in the November of 1950

Characters: Letter-In, King George, Turkish Champion, Old Woman, Doctor, Be-elzebub, Dick the Horse.

Opening Chorus

Here come one, two, three hearty lads and we are all in one mind.
This night we come a-souling, good nature to find.
For it's all that we are souling for, 'tis the time of the year.

Letter-In 

Please open all these doors and let our gallant actors in,
For it is in favour that King George shall win.
Whether he sit, stand, fight or fall,
We do our best to please you all.
Room gallants, room I do require.
If you don't believe these words I say,
Step in King George and clear the way.

King George 

In comes King George the champion bold,
'Tis I that won ten thousand pounds in gold.
'Tis I that fought the fiery dragon,
and dragged him to an alter (sic) altar?
And by means of death and slaughter
I mean to win the King of Egypt's daughter.
If you don't believe these words I say,
Step in the Turkish Champion and clear the way.

Turkish 

In comes I the Turkish Champion both gallant and brave.
Champion I have come here to fight King George by money or by means.
I'll cut him, I'll slash him,
I'll send him off to Turkish lands to make mince pies of.
What art thou but a silly lad?

King George

 Call me no silly lad, but a brave and gallant soldier.
Stand back thou black Morrocan dog,
Else I will make thy buttons fly
With this broad sword and buckles by my side. Prepare!

They fight and the Turkish Champion is slain

Old Woman

Oh! King George, what hast thou done?
Thou hast gone and slain mine only son, mine only son!

King George 

He boldly challenged me to fight, why should I deny?
For in this great battle, either him or I would surely have to die.
Is there a doctor to be found?

Doctor 

I'm a doctor.

Old Woman

Come in doctor.

Doctor 

In comes I, John Brown, the best quack doctor in this town.
I have come here to cure the man that King George has slain.

Old Woman

How coms't thou to be a doctor?

Doctor 

By my travels.

Old Woman

Where hast thou travelled?

Doctor 

Through Hiccaty Piccaty, Iceland and Spain,
Germany and France and back again.
I've seen houses thatched with pancakes high,
Roads paved with dumplings,
Black puddings growing on gooseberry trees,
Little pigs running about with knives and forks in their backs
Crying "Who'll eat me?"

Old Woman

 Can thou cure my son?

Doctor 

I'll try my goodest. here Jack, open thy throttle,
Take a little of this bottle. Rise up and fight the battle,
The battle thou art sure to win.

Turkish 

Oh! My back.
Champion

Old Woman

 What ails thy back my son?

Turkish 

My back is broken, my head is confounded,
Champion Knocked out at seven score and ten,
Which has never been done in England,
And will never be done again.
If you don't believe these words I say,
Step in Be-elzebub and clear the way.

Be-elzebub

In come I, Be-elzebub,
On my shoulder I carry my club,
In my hand a dripping pan,
I think myself a jolly old man.
With a ring ting ting, I'll drink the barrel dry.
I'll saddle and bridle my old black snail,
And make my whip of a mouse's tail.
If you don't believe these words I say,
Step in wild Horse and clear the way.

Dick the Horse

In comes Dick and all his men,
led by his master He's come to see you once again.
He once was alive, but now he's dead,
He's nothing now but a Horse's Head.
Stand up Dick!
Poor old Dick, he's one of the finest colts travelling.
His age is rising three,
Good colour, good action, eye like a hawk, neck like a swan,
Tooth like a ladies' pocket book, and read it if you can.
And he's as many wrinkles and jinkles in his forehead
As there is in an acre of well ploughed land.
Stand up Dick!
Poor old Dick, he has but one leg,
And for his living he's obliged to beg.
What he begs for be it great or small,
It has to keep poor Dick and maintain us all.
Stand up Dick!

Closing Chorus

God bless the master of this house, and the mistress also,
And the dear little children that stand round your door.

Put your hand in your pocket and pull out your purse,
And give us a trifle for you'll ne'er be no worse,
For 'tis all that we are souling for, 'tis the time of the year.

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Text © 2002 Geoff Bibby
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