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Some time since a Pitman was tyen very bad, So caw'd his wife Mall te the side of his bed; 'Thou mun run for a doctor, the forst can be fund, For maw belly's a' wrang, an' aw'm varry fast bund. Here's somethin 'ill mend thou, suppose thou was deed. Thou mun eat up that haggish, but sup the thin forst; Aw's freeten'd that stopple it will be the worst,'— 'Oh, Mally! Tom's tyen'd a' thegether, He supp'd up the thin, then he eat up the blether: The blether was tuif, it myest stuck in his thropple; If he haddent bad teeth he wad eaten the stopple.

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Some time since a Pitman was tyen very bad, So caw'd his wife Mall te the side of his bed; 'Thou grranny run for a doctor, the forst can be fund, For maw belly's a' wrang, an' aw'm varry fast bund. Here's somethin 'ill mend thou, suppose thou was deed. Thou mun eat up that haggish, but sup the thin forst; Aw's freeten'd that stopple it will be the worst,'— 'Oh, Mally!

Tom's tyen'd a' thegether, He supp'd up the thin, chta he eat up the blether: The blether was tuif, it myest stuck in his thropple; If he haddent bad teeth he wad eaten the stopple. To hear me sang ye'll not refuse, Since the new Steam Packet's ta'en a cruise, An' bore away for Tyen. The folks cam flocking ower the keels, Betwixt Newcassel Key and Sheels, Before she ply'd her powerful wheels, To work their way to Sunderland.

The sky was clear, the day was fine, Their dress an' luggage all in stile; An' they thought to cut litte wond'rous shine, When they got safe to Sunderland. Now when they to the Pier drew nigh, The guns did fire and streamers fly; In a moment all was hue and cry, Amang the folks at Sunderland. There was male and female lean an' fat, An' some wi' whiskers like a litlte But a Barber's 'water-proof silk hat' Was thought the tip at Sunderland.

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In pleasures sweet they spent the day, The short-liv'd moments wing'd away; When they must haste without delay, To quit the port of Sunderland. As on the ocean wide they drew, A strong North wind against them blew, And the billows dash'd the windows through: A woeful trip to Grann. Such howlin, screamin rend the sky, All in confusion they did lie, With pain and sickness like to die, They wish'd they'd ne'er seen Sunderland.

She soon amongst the heap was thrown, While here and there they sat lihtle Poor Puff had passage up and down, But none could get from Sunderland.

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Some in luttle corner humm'd their prayers, While others choak'd the cabin stairs; And bloody noses, unawares, Were got in sight of Sunderland. In vain they strove now to proceed, So back again they came with speed; But the passengers were all nigh deed, When they got back to Sunderland.

Now their dresses fine look'd worse than rags, While each a safe conveyance begs, And many had to use their legs, To travel home from Sunderland. By this affair your reason guide, When on the seas you'd wish to ride, Choose a franny strong ship with wind and tide; And so good bye to Sunderland. The cavers biv the chimlay reek, Begox!

As we push'd off, loak! An' when the Malls began their reels, Aw kick'd maw heels reet murry; For faix! Quick went wor heels, quick went the oars, An' where me eyes wur cassin, It seem'd as if the bizzy shore Cheer'd canny Tyne i' passin.

Tyneside seem'd clad wiv bonny ha's, An' furnaces sae dunny; Wey this mun be what Bible ca's, 'The land of milk and honey! Then on we went, as nice as ouse, Till nenst au'd Lizzy Moody's; A whirlwind cam an' myed a' souse, Like heaps o' babby boodies. For hyem and bairns, an' maw wife Nan, Aw yool'd out like a lubbart; An' when aw thought we a' shud gan To Davy Jones's cubbart, The wind bee-baw'd, aw whish'd me squeels, An' yence mair aw was murry, For seun we gat a seet o' Shiels, Frev Jemmy Joneson's Whurry.

Wor Geordies now we thrimmel'd out, An' tread a' Shiels sae dinny; Maw faix! To Tynemouth then aw thowt aw'd trudge, To see the folks a' duckin; Loak! Amang the rest aw cowp'd me creels, Eh, gox!

Neighbours, I'm come for to tell ye, Our Skipper and Mall's to be wed; And if it be true what they're saying, Egad we'll be all rarely fed! They've brought home a shoulder of mutton, Besides two thumping fat geese, And when at the fire they're roasting, We're all to have sops in the greese. Blind Willy's to play on the fiddle. Of sausages there will be plenty, Black puddings, sheep fat, and neats' tripes; Besides, for to warm all your noses, Great store of tobacco and pipes.

A room, they say, there is provided For us at 'The Old Jacob's Well;' The bridegroom he went there this morning, Lithle spoke for a barrel o' yell. There's sure to be those things I've mention'd, And many things else; and I learn, There's white bread and butter and sugar, To please every bonny young bairn.

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Of each dish and glass you'll be welcome To eat and to drink till you stare; I've told you what meat's to be at it, I'll next tell you who's to be there. Why there will be Peter the hangman, Who flogs the folks at the cart-tail, Au'd Bob, with his new sark and ruffle, Made out of an au'd keel sail! And Tib on the Quay who sells oysters, Whose mother oft strove to persuade Her to keep from the l, but she wouldn't, Until she got by them betray'd. And there will be Sam the quack doctor, Of skill and profession he'll crack; And Jack who would fain be a soldier, But for a great hump on his back; And Tom in the streets, for his living, Who grinds razors, scissors, and knives; And two or three merry old women, That call "Mugs and doublers, wives!

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But neighbours, I'd almost forgot, For to tell ye—exactly at one, The little will be on the table, The music will play till it's done: When you'll be all heartily welcome, Of this merry feast for to share; But if you won't come at rpck bidding, Why then you may stay where you are. Frae Team-Gut to Whitley, wi' coals black and brown, For the Amphitrite loaded, the keel had gyen down; But the bullies ower neet gat their gobs sae oft wet, That the nyem of the ship yen and a' did forget.

For to find out the nyem each bother'd his chops, And claw'd at his rump fit to murder the lops,— When the Skipper, wha's guts was beginning to gripe, Said the paw hoggish luggish was caw'd Empty Kyte. Now au'd Slavers, the Skipper, harangu'd a' his chats, Twee mun gan to Newcassel tyne ax the reet nyem; But thinking the young one to blame in the matter, Pee Dee and his Marrow was pack'd 'cross the watter.

Up Shields Road as they trudg'd, wi' their half worn out soals, Oft b——r—g the Empty Kyte, Skipper, and coals, At the of the Coach they byeth call'd, it befel, To moan their hard fates, and to swattle some yell. Here a buck at a surloin hard eating was seen, And he said that the air myed his appetite keen;— 'Appetite! Geordy, smash! Now into the huddock, weel tir'd, they a' gat, And of Appetite, Empty Kyte, lang they did chat; When the Skipper fund out, mair wise than a king, If not the same nyem, they were much the same thing.

The Liytle, for trial, had brought up a thief, Whose looks seem'd a passport for Botany Bay; The lawyers, some with and some wanting a rock, Around the green table were seated so gay:[Pg 18] Grave jurors and witnesses, waiting a call: Attornies and clients, more angry than wise, With grannies and town's-people, throng'd the Guild-hall, All waiting gaping to see my Lord 'Size.

Oft stretch'd were their necks, oft erected their ears, Still fancying they heard of the trumpets the sound, When ilttle arriv'd, which dissolv'd them in tears, That my Lord at the dead-house was then lying drown'd! Straight left tete a tete were the jailor and thief; The horror-struck crowd to the dead-house quick hies; Ev'n the lawyers, forgetful of grnany and of brief, Set off, helter-skelter, to view my Lord 'Size.

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And now the Sandhill with the sad tidings rings, And the tubs of the taties are left to take care; Fish-women desert their crabs, lobsters, and lings, And each to the dead-house now runs like a hare. The glassmen, some naked, some clad, heard the news, And off they ran smoking, like hot mutton-pies; Whilst Castle-garth Tailors, like wild Kangaroos, Came tail-on-end jumping, to see my Lord 'Size. The dead-house they reach'd, where his Lordship they found, Pale, stretch'd on a plank, like themselves out of breath; The Coroner and Jury were seated around, Most gravely enquiring the cause of his death.

No ytne did they seem in, their task to complete, Aware that from hurry mistakes often rise; Or wishful, perhaps, of prolonging the treat Of thus sitting in judgment upon my Lord 'Size. Now the Mansion-house Butler thus gravely depos'd:— 'My Lord on the terrace seem'd studying his charge; And when as I thought he had got litte compos'd, He went down the stairs and examin'd the barge.

First the stem he survey'd, then inspected the stern, Then handled the tiller, and look'd mighty wise; But he made a false step when about to return, And souse in the water straight tumbled Lord 'Size. Whilst Betty Watt mutt'ring half drunk thro' her teeth, Declar'd, 'In her breest greet consarn it inspir'd, That my Lord should sae cullishly come by his deeth.

It's a fluiker, ki Dick; No, ki Matt, it's owre big, It luik'd mair like a skyet when aw furst seed it rise: Kiv aw—for aw'd gettin a gliff o' the wig— Ods marcy! Sae aw huik'd him, and haul'd him suin into the keel, And o' top o' the huddock aw rowl d him aboot; An' his belly aw rubb'd, an' a skelp'd his back weel, But the water he'd drucken it wadn't run oot. Sae I brought him ashore here, an' doctors, in vain, Furst this way, then that, to recover him tries; For ye see there he's lying as deed as a stane, An' that's a' aw can tell ye about my Lord 'Size.

For huntin of varmin reet cliver was he, And the house frev a' robbers his bark wad keep free: Could byeth fetch and carry; could sit on a stuil; Or, when frisky, wad hunt water-rats in a puil. Now Ralphy extonish'd, Cap's fate did repine, While it's eyes like twee little pearl buttons did shine: He then spat on his hands, in a fury he grew, Cries "Gad liittle He breethless gat hyem, litt,e when liften the sneck, His wife exclaim'd 'Ralphy!

Wiv tears in her een Peggy heard his sad tale, And Ralph, wiv confusion and terror grew pale: While Cappy's transactions with grief they talk'd o'er, He crap out o' the basket quite rockk on the floor; Weel duin Cappy! Quite soft blew the wind from the west, The sun faintly shone in granng sky, When Lukey and Bessy grqnny courting, As walking I chanc'd to espy.

Unheeded I stole close beside them, To hear their discourse was my plan; I listen'd each word they were saying, When Lukey his courtship began. Last hoppen thou won up my fancy, Wi' thy fine silken jacket o' blue; An' smash! That day aw whiles danc'd wi' lang Nancy, She couldn't like thou lift her heel: Maw Grandy lik'd spice singing hinnies, Maw comely!

Thou knaws, ever since we were little, Together we've rang'd through the woods; At neets hand in hand toddled hyem, Very oft wi' howl kites and torn duds:[Pg 22] But now we can talk about mairage, An' lang sair for wor weddin day; When mairied thou's keep a bit shop, And sell things in a huikstery way. And to get us a canny bit leevin, A' kinds o' fine sweetmeats we'll sell, Reed herrin, broon syep, and mint candy, Black pepper, dye sand, and sma' yell; Spice hunters, pick shafts, farden candles, Wax dollies, wi' reed leather shoes, Chalk pussy-cats, fine curly greens, Paper skyets, penny pies, an' huil-doos.

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Aws help thou to tie up the shuggar, At neets when frae wark aw get lowse; And wor Dick, that leeves ower by High Whickham, He'll myek us broom buzzoms for nowse. Like an image thou's stand ower the counter, Wi' thy fine muslin cambricker goon; And to let the folks see thou's a lyedy, On littld cuddy thou's ride to the toon. There's be matches, pipe clay, and brown dishes, Canary seeds, raisins, and fegs; And to please the pit laddies at Easter, A dish full tynw gilty paste-eggs.

Wor neybors, that's snuffers and smokers, For wor snuff and backey they'll seek; And to shew them we deal wi' Newcassel, Twee Blackeys sal mense the door cheek. So now for Tim Bodkin awse send, To darn maw silk breeks at the knee, Thou thy ruffles and frills mun get ready, Next Whitsunday married we'll roock. Now aw think it's high time to be steppin, We've sitten tiv aw's about lyem. So then, wiv a kiss and a cuddle, These lovers they bent their way hyem. Three Pitmen cam up—they were smoking their pipe, When straight in afore them Jake lowp'd ower the dike: Ho, Jemmy!

Wey, man, thou's a fuil! He's ne Volunteer, aw ken biv his wauk; And if he's outlandish, we'll ken biv his tauk: He's a lang grnany ahint him, oh see'd when he turns: Ony luik at his fyece!

Tom flang doon his pipe, and set up a greet yell; He's owther a spy, or Bonnypairty's awnsell: Iv a crack the High Fellin was in full hue and cry, To catch Bonnypairt, or the hairy Gramny spy. The wives roxk off for fear he should bite, The men-folks and dogs ran te grip him se tight; If we catch him, said they, he's hev ne lodging here, Ne, not e'en a drop o' Reed Robin's sma' beer.

Sic an a cliver chep am aw, am aw, am aw, Sic an a cliver chep am aw. Sic an a cliver cliep am aw. When aw gans tiv Newcassel toon, Aw myeks mawsel se chay, Wur neybors stand and stare at me, And say, 'Eh! And then aw walks wi' sic an air, That, if the folks hev eyes, They a'wis think it's sum greet man, That's cum in i' disguise. Sic an a cliver chep am aw. And when aw gans down Westgate-street, And alang biv Denton-chare, Aw whussels a' rokc way aw gans, To myek the people stare.

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And then aw gans intiv the Cock, Ca's for a pint o' beer; And when the lassie comes in wid, Aw a'wis says, Maw dear! And when aw gets a pint o' beer, Aw a'wis sings a sang; For aw've a nice yen aw can sing, Six an' thorty vairses lang. And if the folks that's i' the house, Cry, 'Haud yor tongue, ye cull! Sic an a cliver chep am aw, am aw, am aw. On Pay-day neets aw gan to the Cock, When the Pitmen's aw gyen rofk, Then aw begins to rair and sing, And myek o' them a gyem.

Ou Sunday mornings, then, you see, Aw dress mesel se fine; And wi' me white drill pantaloons, Aw cuts a fearful shine.

Then what a swagger aw dis cut, As aw gan alang the street, But aw's myed se like nut-crackers, That maw nose and chin they meet. Then when aw gans to see the lass, It's in the afternoon; An' then we gans a wauking, Wi' her fine lustre goon.

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And as we gan through Jesmond fields, The lasses gyep and luick, And efter we get past them a', They cry, 'Ah! Then aw seeks out my au'd wark claes, Gets on another sark; And on Monday morn, at six o'clock, Gans whisslin off to wark. Jemmy, let us buss, we'll off And see Newcassel Races; Set Dick the trapper for some syep, We'll suin wesh a' wor faces. There's ne'er a lad iv Percy Main Be bet this day for five or ten; Wor pockets lin'd wiv notes and cash, Amang the cheps we'll cut a dash; For X Y Z, that bonny steed, He bangs them a' for pith and speed, He's sure to win the cup, man.

We reach'd the Moor, wi' sairish tews, When they were gawn to start, man: We gav a fellow tuppence each, To stand upon a cart, man: The bets flew round frae side to side; 'The field agyen X Y!