But he gat a blow from a wooden hand,
That made him quite sick, and he could not stand,
And then cam another sic skelp on the hede,
Had his sconce not been thick he wad hae been dede,
Now, Dobson at yen time was very handy,
And at schule he payed Tinley of Shields, the great dandy,
And although he now had come to such skaith,
Cried, "Lay by your wood hands and I'll lick ye baith."
But the pollismen said, "Ye baith prisoners are,
And to Shields ye mun gan, as it's not varry far;"
And though now they began to be sick of the lark,
To Shields they teun were, though it was efter dark.
There they saw Mr. Cruddas and Inspector Scott,
The hede of the pollis, wha pitied their lot,
And releas'd and sent them hyem somewhat muddy—
Poor Dobson the warst—he was baith sair and bloody.
The next day, each yen to his 'torney went,
The yen to Parce Fenwick, the other the Sargent,
Crowner Stoker, whe's spectacles myeks him far-seeted—
He's a h-ll of a fellow for getting folk reeted.
A summons they gat—the men cuddent be seen,
The directors detarmin'd the villains to screen,
And what was still warse, and to save their mutton,
Young Tinley tell'd Jackson, they had gone a shutten.
Noo, as the summons cuddent be sarv'd,
And the pollismen punish'd as they deserv'd,
A warran was getten, and Newton, Allan, and all
Were suin in the cellars beneath the Moot-hall.
Noo the justices sat, to hear what they had to say,
And twe cam frae Shields, for to see fair play;
And William Branlen sat on the bench,
Besides Sandy Ildertan, whe still likes a w—ch.
There was doctors, and lawyers, and pollismen too,
And of railway directors there was not a few,
Including Dick Spoor, whe yence din'd with the queen—
Sic a crew in the jury-room never was seen.
Noo the crowner began, and he made a good speech,
Call'd Archbold and Dobson, and, lastly, the Leech,
Whe bound Dobson's hede, yen Mr. John Lang,
Not "the family surgeon," but a rhyme for my sang.