O neighbours, de tyek off maw sark,
And try if ye can find the mark!
They leuk'd, but nought there could be seen,
They wonder'd a' what it had been.
Fal de ral la, &c.
But, howe'er, it cam to pass,
Out of his pocket fell some glass:
Now then, says Jack, it is ne joke,
See there's maw good yeast bottle broke!
Fal de ral la, &c.
A fellow wiser than the rest,
Soon found out it had been the yeast:
Wi' walking Jack had made it work,
The bullet only was the cork.
Fal de ral la, &c.
Now Jackey finding his mistake,
He thought the best plan he could take
Was to be off—he seiz'd his hat,
And ran hyem like a scadded cat.
Fal de ral la, &c.
THE PITMAN'S RAMBLE;
Or, Newcastle Finery,
Ho! lizzen, aw ye neybors roun,
Yor clappers haud and pipes lay doon;
Aw've had a swagger through the toon,
Yen morning aw went suen ti'd.
Ye see, aw fand aw wasn't thrang,
Sae to Newcassel aw wad gang:
Aw's lap't a' up, just like a sang,
And try to put a tune ti'd.
Bad times they'e now, yen weel may say;
Aw've seen when on a market day,
Wiv wor toon's cheps aw'd drink away,
And carry on the war, man:
But now yen staups an' stares aboot,
To see what's strange to carry oot;
Brass letters fassen'd on a cloot,
A unicorn, or star, man.
Ye see, aw thowt they were to sell;
So ax'd the chep, if he cud tell,
What he wad tyek for C and L,
To nail upon maw hen hoose;
But he insisted, smash his crop!
Aw'd like a fule mistyen the shop;
And bad me quickly off te hop,
He'd bowt them for his awn use.