THE QUACK DOCTORS.

Wor laureate may sing for his cash, Of laws, const.i.tution, 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.

A' ye wi' the glanders snout-full, Repair to each wondrous adviser-- For though ye were born a stark fuel, Depend on't, they'll suen myek ye wiser.

Their physic, they say, in a trice, Snaps every disease like a towt: But the best on't all is their advice-- Ye can get it free gratis for nowt.

Wiv a kessle puff'd up to the chin, Went to see yen, a strapping young doxy, He examin'd her lugs and her een, And declar'd her myest dead o' the dropsy.

The la.s.sie he therefore wad tap, At which she set up a great yell; When out popp'd a little wee chap Myest as wise as the doctor's awnsel'.

Next they teuk him a man, whee for fancies, A' day wad sit silent and sad-- He upheld that he'd lost his reet senses, And therefore he surely was mad.

But now he gies mony a roar, Of the doctor's great skill to convince-- If he wasn't a madman before At least he's been yen ever since.

Last, in hobbled gouty Sir Peter, To get of his drugs a good doze-- Three days he deep studied his water, Ere he'd his opinion disclose.

Then proclaim'd that Sir Peet was ower fat, For the doctor was never mistyen By my faiks! but he curd him o' that-- Suen Sir Peet left the warld, skin and byen.

Now, he that winn't loyally sing, May he swing like an a.s.s in a tether, Good hilth and long life to the King, To keep us in union together.

The heart iv each Briton he leads To rejoice i' the fall o' the quacks-- So we'll aye keep the brains i' wor heeds, And we'll ay hae the flesh on wor backs.

PEGGY'S LEG.

_Written on seeing the Leg of a beautiful Female exposed by the wind on Tyne Bridge, March, 1806._

O tak't not amiss while I sing, my Peggy, O tak't not amiss while I sing, How rude the wind blew, and expos'd thy neat leggy, Thy knee and red garten string, my Peggy, Thy knee and red garten string.

Nor take it amiss while I tell thee, Peggy, Nor take it amiss while I tell, How a' my heart felt upon seeing thy leggy;-- I've never sinsyne been mysel', my Peggy, I've never sinsyne been mysel'.

I think the brisk gale acted right, my Peggy, I think the brisk gale acted right, In shewing me, O lovely dear! thy smart leggy-- It was sic a glorious sight, my Peggy, It was sic a glorious sight.

In troth I'd gan monie a mile, my Peggy, In troth I'd gan monie a mile, Again, my dear Charmer, to view thy neat leggy, And see on thy face a sweet smile, my Peggy, And see on thy face a sweet smile.

I'm deeply in love wi' thee a', my Peggy, I'm deeply in love wi' thee a'-- And I'll think on thy face and thy smart buskit leggy, As lang as I've breath for to draw, my Peggy, As lang as I've breath for to draw.

BONNY KEEL LADDIE.

Maw bonny keel laddie, maw canny keel laddie, Maw bonny keel laddie for me, O!

He sits in his keel, as black as the Deil, And he brings the white money to me, O.

Hae ye seen owt o' maw canny man, And are ye sure he's weel, O?

He's gyen ower land, wiv a stick in his hand, To help to moor the keel, O.

The canny keel laddie, the bonny keel laddie, The canny keel laddie for me, O; He sits in his huddock, and claws his bare b.u.t.tock, And brings the white money to me, O.

THE TYNE.

Roll on thy way, thrice happy Tyne!

Commerce and riches still are thine; Thy sons in every art shall shine, And make thee more majestic flow.

The busy crowd that throngs thy sides, And on thy dusky bosom glides, With riches swell thy flowing tides, And bless the soil where thou dost flow.

Thy valiant sons, in days of old, Led by their chieftains, brave and bold, Fought not for wealth, or shining gold, But to defend thy happy sh.o.r.es.

So e'en as they of old have bled, And oft embrac'd a gory bed, Thy modern sons, by Patriots led, Shall rise to shield thy peace-crown'd sh.o.r.es.

Nor art thou blest for this alone, That long thy sons in arms have shone; For every art to them is known, And science, form'd to grace the mind.

Art, curb'd by War in former days, Has now burst forth in one bright blaze; And long shall his refulgent rays Shine bright, and darkness leave behind.

The Muses too, with Freedom crown'd, Shall on thy happy sh.o.r.es be found, And fill the air with joyous sound, Of--War and darkness' overthrow.

Then roll thy way, thrice happy Tyne!

Commerce and riches still are thine!

Thy sons in arts and arms shall shine, And make thee still majestic flow.

NANNY OF THE TYNE.

Whilst bards, in strains that sweetly flow, Extol each nymph so fair, Be mine my Nanny's worth to shew, Her captivating air.

What swain can gaze without delight On beauty there so fine?

The Graces all their charms unite In Nanny of the Tyne.

Far from the noise of giddy courts The lovely charmer dwells; Her cot the haunt of harmless sports, In virtue she excels.

With modesty, good nature join'd, To form the nymph divine; And truth, with innocence combin'd, In Nanny of the Tyne.

Flow on, smooth stream, in murmurs sweet Glide gently past her cot, 'Tis peace and virtue's calm retreat-- Ye great ones, envied not.

And you, ye fair, whom folly leads Through all her paths supine, Tho' drest in pleasure's garb, exceeds Not Nanny of the Tyne.

Can art to nature e'er compare, Or win us to believe But that the frippery of the fair Was made but to deceive.

Strip from the belle the dress so gay, Which fashion calls divine, Will she such loveliness display As Nanny of the Tyne.