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.
What! hes Newcassel now nae end?
Thinks aw it's wond'rous vurry;
Aw thowt I'd like me life to spend
Iv Jemmy Joneson's Whurry.
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!'
If a' thor things belang'd tiv me,
Aw'd myek the poor reet murry,
An' gar each heart to sing wiv glee,
Iv Jemmy Joneson's Whurry.
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.
The heykin myed me vurry wauf,
Me heed turn'd duzzy, vurry;
Me leuks, aw'm shure, wad spyen'd a cauf,
Iv Jemmy Joneson's Whurry.
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! it seems a canny sprout,
As big maist as its minny:
Aw smack'd thir yell, aw climb'd thir bree,
The seet was wond'rous, vurry;
Aw lowp'd sic gallant ships to see,
Biv Jemmy Joneson's Whurry.
To Tynemouth then aw thowt aw'd trudge,
To see the folks a' duckin;
Loak! men an' wives together pludg'd,
While hundreds stuid by leukin.
Amang the rest aw cowp'd me creels,
Eh, gox! 'twas funny, vurry:
An' so aw end me voyage to Shiels,
Iv Jemmy Joneson's Whurry.
THE SKIPPER'S WEDDING.
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.
And there will be pies and spice dumplings,
And there will be bacon and peas;
Besides a great lump of beef boiled,
And they may get crowdies who please;
To eat of such good things as these are,
I'm shure you've but seldom the luck;
Besides for to make us some pottage,
There'll be a sheep's head and pluck.
Blind Willy's to play on the fiddle.