Between a Town Councillor and an Architect, and the Pollis.
Tune—"Cappy's the Dog."
I' the toon of Newcassel James Archbold dis dwell—
He's a slater te trade, and thinks ne small beer on hissel',
And in Gallowgate, just aside the Darn Crook,
Stands his house amang smells that wad make a horse puke.
I' the same toon a chep leeves, of varry great fame,
For building fine houses—John Dobson's his nyem;—
His awn stands in New Bridge Street, by way of example,—
Blaw me if aw think it's a varry good sample.
It happen'd on ——, the —— of November—
A day these two worthies will ever remember;
For Dobson was varry nigh kill'd, I suppose,
And poor Mr. Archbold spoilt all his best clothes.
The twesome to dine with John Sadler had been
At Whitehill-point House, which is weel to be seen,
A ye gan down to Shields; but aw'll begin my narration
With the row that tuik place at the Howden-pan station.
Efter dinner, when each yen his belly had fill'd,
And some of Jack Sadler's wine had been swill'd,
To gan hyem te Newcassel they left Whitehill-house;
But, before they gat hyem, they gat a vast of abuse.
The station they reach'd ere the train had got there,
And they each tuik a ticket, and each paid his fare;
The train it came up, and Dobson gat in,
And was just gawn to start when the row did begin.
Noo, yen of the pollismen placed at the station,
With lang Jemmy Archbold had some altercation—
"Your ticket, sir, I must now have from you?"
"Not before I get in—I'll be d——d if you do."
Upon this the pollisman gave Jemmy a push,
And into the station-house all made a rush,
And Dobson, noo seeing his friend in such guise,
Jump'd out of the carriage, and went in likewise.