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,
And spoke for a barrel o' yell.
Blind Willy's to play on the fiddle.

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.
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.
Blind Willy's to play on the fiddle.

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 lads, but she wouldn't,
Until she got by them betray'd.
Blind Willy's to play on the fiddle.

And there will be Sandy the cobbler,
Whose belly's as round as a keg,
And Doll, with her short petticoats,
To display her white stockings and leg;
And Sall, who, when snug in a corner,
A sixpence, they say, won't refuse;
She curs'd when her father was drown'd,
Because he had on his new shoes.
Blind Willy's to play on the fiddle.

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!"
Blind Willy's to play on the fiddle.

But neighbours, I'd almost forgot,
For to tell ye—exactly at one,
The dinner 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 this bidding,
Why then you may stay where you are.
Blind Willy's to play on the fiddle.

THE AMPHITRITE.

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.