Why, what's a' this about, Mr. Mayor, Mister Mayor?

Why, what's a' this about, Mister Mayor?

Yor Worship's wife, they say, To the d.u.c.h.ess won't give way, Nor due attention pay, Mister Mayor!

But is this true, aw pray, Mister Mayor, Mister Mayor?

But is this true, aw pray, Mister Mayor?

If it's true, as aw believe, Ye'll ha'e muckle cause to grieve-- The Duke yor toon will leave, Mister Mayor!

The Judge, Sir William Scott, Mr. Mayor, Mister Mayor!

The Judge, Sir William Scott, Mr. Mayor!

Says, yor wife is much to blame; And aw think 'twad be ne shame, To skelp her for the same, Mister Mayor!

'Tis not the Judge alane, Mister Mayor, Mister Mayor!

'Tis not the Judge alane, Mr. Mayor!

But the Judge and Jury baith, Say, she's guilty o' maw faith, An' so Sir Thomas saith, Mr. Mayor!

The Duke the Jury towld, Mister Mayor, Mr. Mayor!

The Duke the Jury towld, Mr. Mayor!

He went with them to dine, And surely he did whine, 'Bout his wife, mun, ow'r his wine, Mr. Mayor!

'Twas sure ne n.o.ble deed, Mister Mayor, Mister Mayor!

'Twas sure ne n.o.ble deed, Mr. Mayor!

He shew'd ne mighty sense, At yor Dame to take offence; So let his Grace gan hence, Mr. Mayor!

But there's other folk to blame, Mr. Mayor, Mr. Mayor!

But there's other folk to blame, Mr. Mayor!

Yor wife has counsell'd with Wor Vicar, Johnny Smith, And he's nought, ye knaw, but pith, Mr. Mayor!

Enjoy life when ye can, Mister Mayor, Mister Mayor!

Enjoy life when ye can, Mr. Mayor!

Nor let the Brewer Knight, Nor the Duke, wi' a' his spite, Say yor wife's no i' the right, Mr. Mayor!

THE COAL TRADE.

Good people, listen while I sing The source from whence your comforts spring, And may each wind that blows still bring Success unto the Coal Trade?

Who but unusual pleasure feels To see our fleets of ships and keels!

Newcastle, Sunderland, and Shields, May ever bless the Coal Trade.

May vultures on the caitiff fly And gnaw his liver till he die, Who looks with evil, jealous eye, Down upon the Coal Trade.

If that should fail, what would ensue?

Sure, ruin and disaster too!

Alas! alas! what could we do, If 'twere not for the Coal Trade!

What is it gives us cakes of meal?

What is it crams our wames sae weel With lumps of beef and draughts of ale?

What is't, but just the Coal Trade.

Not Davis' Straits or Greenland oil, Nor all the wealth springs from the soil, Could ever make our pots to boil, Like unto our Coal Trade.

Ye sailors' wives that love a drop Of stingo fra the brandy shop, How could you get one single drop, If it were not for the Coal Trade.

Ye pitmen lads, so blithe and gay, Who meet to tipple each pay-day, Down on your marrow bones and pray, Success unto the Coal Trade!

May Wear and Tyne still draw and pour Their jet black treasures to the sh.o.r.e, And we with all our strength will roar, Success unto the Coal Trade!

Ye owners, masters, sailors a', Come shout till ye be like to fa'; Your voices raise--huzza! huzza!

We all live by the Coal Trade.

This nation is in duty bound, To prize those who work under ground, For 'tis well known this country round Is kept up by the Coal Trade.

May Wear, and Tyne, and Thames ne'er freeze, Our ships and keels will pa.s.s with ease, Then Newcastle, Sunderland, and Shields, Will still uphold the Coal Trade.

I tell the truth, you may depend, In Durham or Northumberland, No trade in them could ever stand, If it were not for the Coal Trade.

The owners know full well, 'tis true, Without pitmen, keelmen, sailors too, To Britain they might bid adieu, If it were not for the Coal Trade.

So to conclude, and make an end Of these few lines which I have penn'd, We'll drink a health to all those men Who carry on the Coal Trade: To owners, pitmen, keelmen too, And sailors, who the seas do plough, Without these men we could not do, Nor carry on the Coal Trade.

TOM CARR AND WALLER WATSON;

_Or, Tom and Jerry at Home._

Tune--"There was a bold Dragoon."

O Marrow, howay to the toon, What fun we will ha'e there!

We needn't fear the watchmen now, Let them come if they dare!

We'll hev a gill and sing a sang, And through the streets we'll roar a ditty, For Tom Carr hez ne bizness now To put us a' neet i' the Kitty.

Whack, fal, &c.

For when he cam before me Lord, He fand his sel a' wrang, For tyaken Watson up yen neet For singing a wee bit sang.

Another chep ca'd Walton te, Aw own that he was rather murry, For he tell'd the watchman to be off, Or else he'd give him Tom and Jurry, Whack, fal, &c.

The watchman seiz'd him by the neck, Then up cam other two: Says Walton. 'Now let go o' me, Or aw'll let ye knaw just now.'

Then he lifted up his great lang airm, Me soul he gave him sec a knoller; But the watchman kept his haud se lang, He pull'd off Walton's dandy collar.

Whack, fal, &c.

To the watch-house then they dragg'd them off, Before greet Captain Carr: Says he, 'What ha'e ye getten here, Me worthy men o' war?'

Wye, sir, says they, here's twe greet cheps, The yen aw shure deserves a swingin; For they've roar'd and shouted thro' the streets, And wyaken'd a' the folks wi' singin.

Whack, fal, &c.

'Aye, aye,' says Carr, 'aw ken them weel, Tyek them out o' my seet!

Away wi' them to Mr. Scott, And keep them there a' neet.'

Says Walton, 'Will ye hear me speak?'

Says Tommy, 'Go you to the devil!'

'Wye, wye,' says Walton, 'never mind, But surely this is d.a.m.n'd uncivil.'

Whack, fal, &c.