There shows of all sorts you may view;
Polito's grand collection too;
Such noise and din and lilli-bulloo,
At fam'd Newcassel Races, O.
There some on horses sat astride,
And some in gigs did snugly ride,
With smart young wenches by their side;
Look'd stilish at the Races, O.

A Tailor chep aw chanc'd to spy,
Was sneekin through the crowd sae sly,
For he'd tyen the darling of his eye,
To swagger at the Races, O.
He says, My dear, we'll see the show,
Egad! says she, I do not know,
It looks so vulgar and so low,
We'd better see the Races, O.

One Buck cries, Demme, go the rig!
Got two smart lasses in a gig;
He crack'd his whip, and look'd quite big,
While swagg'rin at the Races, O.
But soon, alas! the gig upset,
An ugly thump they each did get;
Some say, that he his breeches wet,
For fear, when at the Races, O.

The one was lyem'd abuin the knee,
The other freeten'd desp'rately;
"This demm'd unlucky job!" says she,
"Has fairly spoil'd my Races, O!"
He gat them in, wi' some delay,
And te Newcassel bent his way;
But oft, indeed, he curs'd the day,
That e'er he'd seen the Races, O.

Now some were singin songs so fine,
And some were lying drunk like swine,
Some drank porter, others wine;
Rare drinkin at the Races, O!
The wanton wags in corners sat,
Wiv bonny lasses on their lap;
And mony a yen gat tit for tat,
Before they left the Races, O.

Now lads and lasses myed for toon,
And in the road they oft lay doon;
Faith! mony a lassie spoil'd her goon,
A comin frae the Races, O:
Some gat hyem, midst outs and ins,
Some had black eyes and broken shins,
And some lay drunk amang the whins,
A comin frae the Races, O:

Let every one his station mense,
By acting like a man of sense—
'Twill save him mony a pund expense,
When he gans te the Races, O.
Kind friends, I would you all advise,
Good counsel ye should ne'er despise,
The world's opinion always prize,
When ye gan to the Races, O.

THE QUACK DOCTORS.

Wor laureate may sing for his cash,
Of laws, constitution, and proctors,
Contented aw'll blair for a dash
At the slee understrapping quack doctors,
They gob o' their physical skill,
Till their jaws yen might swear they wad rive,
To prove what's alive they can kill,
And what's dead they can suen myek alive.