A' me sorrow's ower now aw've fund maw hinny;
A' me sorrow's ower now aw've fund maw bairn;
Lang may aw shoot, Maw canny hinny!
Lang may aw shoot, Maw bonny bairn!
BOB CRANKY'S ACCOUNT
Of the Ascent of Mr. Sadler's Balloon, from Newcastle, Sept. 1, 1815.
Ho'way, a' me marrows, big, little, and drest,
The first of a' seets may be seen;
It's the Balloon, man, see greet! aye, faiks! it's ne jest,
Tho' it seems, a' the warld, like a dream.
Aw read iv the papers, by gocks! aw remember,
It's to flee without wings i' the air,
On this varry Friday, the furst of September,
Be it cloudy, wet weather, or fair.
And a man, mun, there means, in this varry Balloon,
Above, 'mang the stars to fly,
And to haud a converse wi' the man i' the moon,
And cockwebs to soop frae the sky.
So we started frae hyem by eight i' the morn,
Byeth faither and mother and son,
But fand a' wor neighbours had started before,
To get in good time for the fun.
The lanes were a' crouded, some riding, some walking,
Aw ne'er see'd the like iv my life;
'Twas bedlam broke oot, aw thowt by their talking,
Every bairn, lad, lass, and the wife.
The folks at the winders a' jeer'd as we past,
An' thowt' a' wor numbers surprisin;
They star'd and they glower'd, and axed in jest,
Are all of ye pitmen a rising?
Aw fand, at the toon, te, the shops a' shut up,
And the streets wi' folks were sae flocken;
The walls wi' Balloon papers sae closely clagg'd up,
Be cavers! it luckt like a hoppen.
A fellow was turnin it a' into a joke,
Another was a' the folks hummin,
While a third said, it was a bag full o' smoke,
That ower wor heeds was a cummin.
To the furst o' these cheps, says aw, Nyen o' yur fun,
Or aw'll lay thee at length on the styens,
Or thy teeth aw'll beat oot, as sure as a gun,
And mevies aw'll chowk ye wi' byens.
To the beak o' the second aw held up me fist,
D—mn! aw'll bray ye as black as a craw,
Aw'll knock oot yur e'e, if aw don't aw'll be kist,
An' mump a' the slack o' yur jaw.
Aw pat them to reets, an' onward aw steer'd,
An' wonder'd the folks aw had see'd,
But a' was palaver that ever aw heurd,
So aw walk'd on as other folk did.
At last aw gat up on the top o' sum sheds,
Biv the help of an au'd crazy lether;
An' ower the tops o' ten thousand folks' heads,
Aw suen gat a gliff o' the blether.