"Sees te Ellek, theer'st peer luikin chap et meks aw t' bits o' Cummerlan' ballets!"-"The deevil! fye Jobby, let's off frev him, for fear!"-"Here's yer whillimer; lank and lean, but cheap an' clean!" says yen. "Buy a pair of elegant shun, young gentleman!" cries a dandy snob, "they were meade for Mr. Justice Grunt. Weages are hee, and ledder's dear; but they're nobbet twelve shillin." Then a fat chap wid a hammer selt clocks, cubberts, teables, chairs, pots and pans, for nought at aw; efter aw the rattle!

Then

peer bits o' hawf-broken farmers

In leggins, were struttin about;

Were teymes guid, they'd aw become dandies-
We'll ne'er leeve ta see that, I doubt!

Sec screapin and squeekin 'mang t' fiddlers;
I crap up the stairs, to be seer;
But suin trotted down by the waiter,

For deil a bit cap'rin was theer.

What, lads and lasses are far owre proud to dance now-adays. I stowtert ahint yen desst out leyke a gingerbread queen, an' when I gat a gliff at her, whee sud it be but Jenny Murthet, my aul sweetheart. I tried to give her a buss, but cuddent touch her muzzle; for she wore yen o' thur meal scowp bonnets. Jenny'll hev a mountain o' money; an' mey stars, she's a walloper! Aa! just leyke a house en! As for me, I's nobbet a peer lillyprushen; but she'll be meyne, efter aw the rattle !

Sae we link'd, an' we laugh'd, an' we chatter'd; Few husseys leyke Jenny ye'll see :

O hed we but taen off to Gretna,

Nin wad been sae happy as we!

We went thro' the big kurk, an' cassel;
And neist tuik a rammel thro' t' streets :
What, Carel's the place for feyne houses,
But monie a peer body yen meets ;

Ay ! yen in tatters, wi' ae e'e shoutet, "Here's last speech, confession, and deein words o' Martha Mumps: she was hang't, for committin a reape on"-Hut shaff! I forgit his neame. Anudder tatterdemalion says, "Come, buy a full chinse Indy muslin; nobbet sixpence hawfpenny a yard?” Jenny bowt yen, an' it was rotten as muck. Then theer was bits o' things wi' their neddys, and rwoarin upt' lanes, "Bleng-ki-ship cwoals!" Sec cheatin, stealin, wheedlin, leein, rwoarin, swearin, drinkin, feightin, meks Fairs nowt et dow; efter aw the rattle!

Thro' leyfe we hev aw maks amang us;

Sad changes ilk body mun share :
To-day we're just puzzen'd wi' pleasure;
To-mworn we're bent double wi' care!

September, 1819.

THE DAWTIE.

AIR: "I'm o'er young to marry yet."
"Tho' weel I like ye, Jwohny lad,
I cannot, munnet marry yet!
My peer auld mudder's unco bad,

Sae we a wheyle mun tarry yet;
For ease or comfort she hes neane-
Life's just a lang, lang neet o' pain;
I munnet leave her aw her leane,

And wunnet, wunnet marry yet!"
"O Jenny! dunnet brek this heart,

And say, we munnet marry yet;
Thou cannot act a jillet's part-

Why sud we tarry, tarry yet?

Think, lass, of aw the pains I feel;
I've lik'd thee lang, nin kens how weel!
For thee, I'd feace the varra deil—
O say not, we mun tarry yet!"
"A weddet life's oft dearly bought;
I cannot, munnet marry yet;
Ye hae but little-I hae nought,

Sae, we a wheyle mun tarry yet!

My heart's yer awn, ye needna fear,
But let us wait anudder year,

And luive, and toil, and screape up gear-
We munnet, munnet marry yet!

""Twas but yestreen, my mudder said,

'O, dawtie ! dunnet marry yet! I'll suin lig i' my last cauld bed; Tou's aw my comfort-tarry yet.' Whene'er I steal out o' her seet,

She seeghs, and sobs, and nought gangs reetWhisht! that's her feeble voice ;-guid neet! We munnet, munnet marry yet!"

THE CODBECK WEDDIN.

AIR: "Andrew Carr."

They sing of a weddin at Worton,

Where aw was feight, fratchin, and fun; Feegh-sec a yen we've hed at Codbeck, As niver was under the sun :

The breydegruim was weaver Joe Bewley,
He com frae about Lowthet Green;
The breyde, Jwohny Dalton's lish dowter,
And Betty was weel to be seen.

Sec patchin, and weshin, and bleachin,
And starchin, and darning auld duds;
Some lasses thought lang to the weddin—
Unax'd, others sat i' the suds.

There were tweescwore and seeben inveyted,
God speed tem, 'gean Cursenmass-day;
Dobson' lads, tui, what they mun come hidder—
I think they were better away.

Furst thing Oggle Willy, the fiddler,
Caw'd in, wi' auld Jonathan Strang;

Neist stiff and stout, lang, leame, and lazy,
Frae aw parts com in wi' a bang ;—
We'd lads that wad eat for a weager,
Or feight, ay, till bluid to the knees;
Fell-seyders, and Sowerby riff-raff,

That deil a bum-bealie dare seize.

The breyde hung her head, and luik'd sheepish,
The breydegruim as wheyte as a clout;
The bairns aw gleym'd thro' the kurk windows,
The parson was varra devout:

The ring was lost out of her pocket,

The breyde meade a bonny te-dee;

Cries Goffet' wife, "Mine's meade o' pinchback, And, la, ye! it fits till a tee."

Now buckl'd, wi' fiddler's afwore them,
They gev Michael Crosby a caw;
Up spak canny Bewley the breydegruim,
"Get slocken'd, lads, fadder pays aw."
We drank till aw seem'd blue about us,
We're aw murry deevils, tho' peer;
Michael' wife says, "Widout onie leein,
A duck mud hae swam on the fleer."

Now, aw 'bacco'd owre, and hawf-drucken,
The men fwok wad needs kiss the breyde:
Joe Head, that's aye reckon'd best spokesman,
Whop'd "Guid wad the couple beteyde."
Says Michael, "I's reet glad to see you,
Suppwosin I gat ne'er a plack."
Cries t' wife "That'll nowther pay brewer,
Nor get bits o' sarks to yen's back."

The breyde wad dance "Coddle me Cuddie,"
A threesome then caper'd Scotch reels;
Peter Weir cleek'd up auld Mary Dalton,

Leyke a cock round a hen next he steals; Jwohn Bell yelp'd out "Sowerby Lasses ;" Young Jwosep a lang country dance, He'd got his new pumps Smithson meade him, And fain wad show how he cou'd prance.

To march round the town, and keep sober,
The women fwok thought was but reet;
"Be wise, dui, for yence," says Jwohn Dyer,

The breydegruim mud reyde shoulder heet ;