ON THE DEATH OF CAPTAIN STARKEY.
"What! is he gyen?" Bold Airchy said,
And moungin' scratch'd his head—
"O can sic waesome news be true?
Is Captain Starkey dead?
Aw's griev'd at heart—push round the can—
Seun empty frae wor hands we'll chuck it—
For now we'll drink wor last to him,
Since he has fairly kick'd the bucket.
My good shag hat ne mair aw'll wave,
His canny fyace to see—
Wor bairns' bairns will sing o' him,
As Gilchrist sings o' me
For O! he was a lad o' wax!
Aw've seen him blithe, an' often mellow—
He might hae faults, but, wi' them a',
We've seldom seen a better fellow.
Yen day they had me drown'd for fun,
Which myed the folks to blair;
Aw myest could wish, for his dear sake,
That aw'd been drown'd for fair.
On monny a day when cannons roar,
Yen loyal heart will then be missin'—
If there be yell, we'll toast his nyem—
If there be nyen, he'll get wor blissin'."
Blind Willie then strumm'd up his kit
Wi' monny a weary drone,
Which Thropler, drunk, and Cuckoo Jack
Byeth answer'd wiv a groan.
"Nice chep! poor chep!" Blind Willie said—
"My heart is pierc'd like onny riddle,
To think aw've liv'd to see him dead—
Aw never mair 'ill play the fiddle.
His gam is up, his pipe is out,
And fairly laid his craw—
His fame 'ill blaw about, just like
Coal dust at Shiney-Raw.
He surely was a joker rare—
What times there'd been for a' the nation,
Had he but liv'd to be a Mayor,
The glory o' wor Corporation.
But he has gi'en us a' the slip,
And gyen for evermore—
Au'd Judy and Jack Coxon tee,
Has gyen awhile before—
And we maun shortly follow them,
An' tyek the bag, my worthy gentles—
Then what 'ill poor Newcassel dee,
Depriv'd of all her ornamentals!
We'll moralize—for dowly thowts,
Are mair wor friends than foes—
For death, like when the tankard's out,
Brings a' things tiv a close.
May we like him, frae grief and toil,
When laid in peace beneath the hether—
Upon the last eternal shore,
A' happy, happy meet together!"