When a' his friends that round him stood, Had gettin' him put reet, man, They a' went tiv the Robin Hood, To spend a jovial neet, man; Ne mair for Billy they did weep, But happy they did seem, man;-- Just then aw waken'd frae my sleep, And fand it was a dream, man.

JOCKER.

Tune--"O, gin I had her."

Hae ye seen my Jocker, Hae ye seen my Jocker, Hae ye' seen my Jocker Comin' up the Kee?

Wiv his short blue jacket, Wiv his short blue jacket, Wiv his short blue jacket, And his hat agee!

(Spoken.)--JIN. A! lyucka, noo, at clarty Nan, there!--what's she singin' at?

NAN.--What is aw singin' at! What's that ti ye? What it aw singin' at!

Ah, wey, noo!--hev aw ti give ower singin' for ye? Ah! wey, noo! there's a platter-fyeced bunter for ye!--there's a smother-bairn w----! there's a pink amang the p.i.s.sy-beds! Ah! wey, noo!... Ye'd mair need gan hyem, and get the dust wesht off ye. Ah! wey, noo--what's that!

O, maw hinny, Jocker, O, maw hinny, Jocker, O, maw hinny, Jocker-- Jocker's the lad for me!

Jocker was a keelman, Jocker was a keelman, Jocker was a keelman, When he follow'd me.

(Spoken.)--But he's exalted now--O, bliss him, aye!--for

He's a porter-pokeman, He's a porter-pokeman, He's a porter-pokeman, Workin' on the Kee.

(Spoken.)--NAN. a.s.sa, Jin--hae ye seen owt o' wor Jocker doon the Kee, there?

JIN.--Ay, aw saw him and Hairy Tom just gan into the Low Crane, there.

NAN.--The Low Crane, ye clarty fa'--whe are ye myekin' yor gam on?

JIN.--Noo, call me a clarty fa', and aw'll plaister yor gob wi' clarts.

Ah, wey, noo! whe are ye calling a clarty fa'?

NAN.--Ay! bliss us a', Jin, what are ye gettin' intiv a rage about?

JIN.--Wey, didn't ye ax me if aw'd seen owt o' Jocker doon the Kee, there--and aw teld ye the truth, and ye wadn't believe me.

NAN.--Wey, is he there?

JIN.--Ti be sure he is.

NAN.--Wey, aw'll sit down here till he comes out--then--

O, maw hinny, Jocker, &c.

Jocker was a rover, Jocker was a rover, Jocker was a rover, When he courted me: But, noo, his tricks are over, But, noo, his tricks are over, But, noo, his tricks are over, He tykes me on his knee.

(Spoken.) NAN.--Ay! here he's comin'; here's maw jewel comin';--come into my airms, my tracle dumplin', and give us a kiss! Where hae ye been? aw been luikin' for ye all ower.

JOCKER.--Where hev aw been!--aw've been walkin' up and down the Kee here. Where hae ye been?--aw think ye've been i' the Sun.

NAN.--Wey, maw jewel, aw've just been i' the Custom-house, getting a gla.s.s, and aw've com'd down the Key to seek ye, to gan hyem thegither.

a.s.sa, Jocker, divent lie se far off is as ye did last neet, for when aw waken'd, aw was a' starving o' caud.

O, maw hinny, Jocker, &c.

THE CORN MARKET.

_A LAMENT._

Tune--"The Bold Dragoon."

O hinney Grainger, haud thy hand, thou'll turn us upside doon, Or faith aw'll send for Mr. Brand, to claw thy curly croon; For what thou's myed the Major's dean, wor thenks are due, and thou shalt hae them; But noo the law toon folk complain, thou wants to tyek their Egypt frae them.

Whack, row de dow, &c.

Most folk like the better half, but thou wad swalley all, Poor-house or Jail may tyek the rest, gie thou but Elswick Hall.

Wor c.o.o.ncil's cliver, there's ne doot, but they'll find out, tho'

rather late on, How cool the devil walks about, in the smooth shape of J----y C----n.

Thou's getten aw the butcher-meat, the taties, tripe, and greens, And, not content with this, thou wants to tyek wor corn, it seems; For Mosley-street and Mercy's sake, sic wicked thowts at once abandon, Or else wor canny awd law toon, it winna hev a leg to stand on.

The wheel o' fortune will stand still, the bees forsyek the hive, There'll be ne wark for Sinton's Mill, the White Horse winna drive, Poor Mrs. F----h and Temperance H----l ne mair need recommend their diet, The farmers will forget to call, H-ll's Kitchen's very sel' turn quiet.

The Chronicle may doze in peace,--Lord Grainger says, "Sleep on--"

The bugs may tyek another lease, their race is not yet run; Awd Nichol still may fairly say, frae Hepple's up to Humble's house end, He feeds a lively host each day, aw'll say, at least, a hundred thousand.

The White Swan seun 'ill be agrund, the Black Boy turn quite pale, The Black Bull wi' the blow be stunn'd, the Lion hang his tail, Tom H----n's c.o.c.k 'ill craw ne mair, the awd Blue Bell be dumb for ever,-- And', just to myek the Kee-side stare, thou'd better send doon for the river.

Whack, row de dow, &c.

THE SKIPPER'S ACCOUNT OF THE MECHANICS' PROCESSION.

By R. EMERY, of the Nelson Lodge, Newcastle.

Tune--"_Newcastle Fair._"

Cried Mally, Come, Jacky, get ready-- The morning is looking se fine, man; The bells i' the town are a' ringing, And the sun it se bonny does shine, man; The lads and the la.s.ses are runnin', To se the Mechanics so gay, man,-- To meet the Procession, wi' Mally, Aw suen cut my stick, and away, man.

Rom ti iddity, &c.

We reach'd the Tyne Brig in a crack, 'Mang croods, like worsels, out o' breeth, man-- The splendor aw cannot describe, Nor forget till the day o' my deeth, man: A fine silken banner appear'd, As big as wor Geordy's keel-sails, man, A' cover'd wi' doves, ark, and croons, An' greet hairy men without tails, man.

Rom ti iddity, &c.