A few miles from Harrogate, travellers may mark
A district extensive, named Haverah Park,
'Twas, once, a Royal Park, so historians say,
But no need to mention, 'twas not in our day.
A story's attached to this beautiful spot,
I cannot say if it's a true one or not,
But whether it's fiction, or whether it's true,
The story I purpose relating to you.
John o' Gaunt owned the property, long years ago,
And its beauty was great, as we very well know,
And one day a cripple came struggling there,
The great John o'Gaunt he approached with a prayer,
He begged him to grant him a piece of the ground
From whence, for his living enough might be found;
The Prince listened to him, a smile in his eyes,
And answered his prayer in the following wise
"I, John o' Gaunt,
Do give and do grant
To thee, Haverah,
As much of my ground
As thou canst hop round
On a long summer day."
(As a Bard J. O'G. was a bit of a hot 'un,
Though witty by nature, his rhyming was rotten.)
Now, this cripple, Haverah, wasn't a dunce,
And a brainy idea struck his noddle, at once,
He picked out the longest day Summer has got,
Started at sunrise–went off like a shot,
Hoppity–hop
All over the shop,
And all round the place without, scarcely, a stop.
And when he'd encompassed the land he required
In a manner that everyone must have admired,
He claimed his reward, and the Prince was a sport,
So stuck to his word, as he jolly well ought.
How did the Cripple succeed in his task?
I really don't wonder the question you ask,
His plan showed of wit he'd some wonderful touches,
He hopped round the show,
WITH THE AID OF HIS CRUTCHES.
And that's where the narrative stops,
And that's where the interest drops,
If it doesn't do more, It does one thing, I'm sure,
It shows you the value of Hops!
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