Wor bonny lamp that brunt se breet, And cheer'd each wintry neet se dreary, Is gyen, and lots o' canny folks Will miss it sair when cawd and weary!

Whack, row de dow, &c.

Now, for the sake of her that's gyen, Just speak the cheering word, And say, that to wor ancient burth, Aw suen will be restor'd.

The news wor town wad 'lectrify, And gar yor nyem to live for ever-- In efter times yor deeds wad shine, And 'clipse the nyem o' wor Tyne river.

Whack, row de dow, &c.

Had Charley Brandling, bliss his nyem, Been spar'd to seen this day, He'd shown the great respect he had For poor aud Madgie Gray; Alas! he's gyen;--close to yorsel'

Aw'll stick until aw's satisfied, sir; When ye look on this good-like fyece, Maw wishes ne'er can be denied, sir.

Whack, row de dow, &c.

Frae Summer-hill down to the Kee, Fo'ks kenn'd poor Madgie weel,-- Aw's very sure wor Magistrates For maw condition feel; The cellar's ow'r confin'd and damp,-- Restore us to wor canny station, And bliesings great will leet upon Wor canny Toon and Corporation.

Whack, row de dow, &c.

R. EMERY.

Footnote 46: The Oyster-tub alluded to stood on the Quay, nearly opposite to the foot of Grinding-chare. It formed rather an interesting feature in the winter nights, being accompanied by a large blazing lamp, at which sat the owner, attended by several loungers. On the death of old Margery Gray, which took place about October, 1831, this tub was removed, lest the long occupancy of the place should become a freehold, like the little barber's shop which stood at the east end of the _Maison de Dieu_, and which had originally been only a stall. _August, 1833._

BROOM BUSOMS.

If ye want a busom[47] for to sweep your house, Come to me, my la.s.ses--ye may hae your choose.

Buy broom busoms, buy them when they're new-- Buy broom busoms--better never grew.

If I had a horse, I would have a cart; If I had a wife, she would take my part.

Buy broom, &c.

Had I but a wife--I care not who she be; If she be a woman, that's enough for me.

Buy broom, &c.

If she lik'd a drop, her and I'd agree; If she did not like it, there's the more for me.

Buy broom, &c.

_The following Verses, in addition to the above, were often sung by the late Blind Willie, of Newcastle:--_

Up the Butcher-bank, and down Byker-chare, There you'll see the la.s.ses selling brown ware.

Buy broom, &c.

Along the Quayside, stop at Russell's Entry: There you'll see the beer-drawer, she is standing sentry.

Buy broom, &c.

If you want an oyster for to taste your mouth, Call at Handy Walker's--he's a bonny youth.

Buy broom, &c.

Call at Mr. Loggie's--he does sell good wine; There you'll see the beer-drawer--she is very fine.

Buy broom, &c.

If you want an orange, ripe and full of juice, Gan to Hannah Black, there you'll get your choose.

Buy broom, &c.

Call at Mr. Turner's, at the Queen's Head-- He'll not set you away without a piece of bread.

Buy broom, &c.

Down the river's side, as far as Dent's Hole, There you'll see the cuckolds working at the coal.

Buy broom, &c.

Footnote 47: Besom.

THUMPING LUCK.

Air--"Gang nae mair to yon Town."

Here's thumping luck to yon town, Let's have a hearty drink upon't,-- O the days I've spent in yon town, My heart still warms to think upon't; For monie a happy day I've seen, With monie a la.s.s so kind and true,-- With hearty chields I've canty been, And danc'd away till a' was blue.

Here's thumping luck to yon town, Let's have a hearty drink upon't,-- O the days I've spent in yon town, My heart still warms to think upon't.

There's famous ale in yon town, Will make your lips to smack again, And many a one leaves yon town, Oft wishes they were back again; Well shelter'd from the northern blast, Its spires and turrets proudly rise, And boats and keels all sailing past With coals, that half the world supplies.

Here's thumping luck, &c.

There's native bards in yon town, For wit and humour seldom bet And they sang sae sweet in yon town, Good faith, I think I hear them yet: Such fun in Thompson's voyage to Shields, In Jimmy Johnson's wherry fine-- Such shaking heels, and dancing reels, When sailing on the coaly Tyne.

Here's thumping luck, &c.

Amang the rest in yon town, One Shiels was fam'd for ready wit-- His "Lord Size" half drown'd in yon town, Good faith I think I hear it yet: Then Mitford's muse is seldom wrong, When once he gives the jade a ca', And Gilchrist, too, for comic song, Though last, he's not the least of a'.

Here's thumping luck, &c.

May the sun shine bright on yon town, May its trade and commerce still increase,-- And may all that dwells in yon town Be blest with fond, domestic peace; For, let me wander east or west, North, south, or even o'er the sea, My native town I'll still love best-- NEWCASTLE is the place for me.

Here's thumping luck, &c.

W. WATSON.

DANCE TO THY DADDY.

Tune--"The little Fishy."

Come here, my little Jackey, Now I've smok'd my backey, Let's have a bit crackey Till the boat comes in.