Neist Peter caw'd Gibby a rebel,
And aw rwoar'd out, that was wheyte wrang; Cried Deavie, Sheake hans, and nae mair on't→→ 'I's sing ye a bit of a sang.'
He lilted "The King and the Tinker,"
And Wully strack up "Robin Hood;"
Dick Mingins tried "Hooly and Fairly,"
And Martha, "The Babs o' the Wood?"
They push'd round a glass like a noggin,
And bottom'd the greybeard complete;
Then crack'd till the muin glowr'd amang them,
And wish'd yen anudder guid neet.
The former Edition of
THE BALLADS.
The Fellows round Torkin*.
TUNE," The Yorkshire Concert.”
WE'RE aw feyne fellows round Torkin;
We're aw guid fellows weel met;
We're aw wet fellows round Torkin,
Sae faikins we mun hev a sweat:
Let's drink to the lasses about us,
'Till Day's braid glare bids us start; We'll till the saller be emptysup
Come, Dicky, lad, boddom the quart.
I'll gi'e ye, says Dick, durty Dinah,
That's ay big wi' bairn fwok suppwose;
She sticks out her lip like a pentes,
To kep what may drop frae her nwose:
* A wood-covered hill, near Crofton Hall, in Cumberland.
Like a hay-stack she hoists up ae shouder,
And scarts, for she's nit varra soum:
Wi' legs thick as mill-pwosts, and greasy,
The deevil cud nit ding her down!
We're aw odd fellows round Torkin;
We're aw larn'd fellows weel met;
We're aw rich fellows round Torkin,
Sae faikins we mun hev a sweat:
Let's drink to the lasses about us,
'Till Day's braid glare bids us part;
We'll till the saller be empty-
sup
Come, Matthew, lad, boddom the quart.
I'll i'e ye, says Matt, midden Marget,
That squints wi' the left-handed e'e;
When at other fellows she's gleymin,
I's freeten'd she's luikin at me:
She smells far stranger than carrion,
Her cheeks are as dark as hung beef,
Her breasts are as flat as a back-buird;
'Mang sluts she's aye counted the chief!
We're aw wise fellows round Torkin;
We're aw neyce fellows weel met;
We're aw sad fellows round Torkin,
Sae faikins we mun hev a sweat :
Let's drink to the lasses about us,
'Till Day's braid glare bids us part; We'll sup 'till the saller be empty
Come, Gwordy, lad, bottom the quart.
I'll gi'e ye, says Gworge, geapin Grizzy,
Wi' girt feet and marrowless legs;
Her red neb wad set fire to brunstone;
Her een are as big as duck eggs:
She's shep'd tike a sweyne i' the middle,
Her skin freckl'd aw like a gleid;
Her mouth's weyde as onie town yubben,
We're freeten'd she'll swally her head'!
We're aw strang fellows round Torki..
We're aw lish fellows weel met;
We're aw top fellows round Torkin,
Sae faikins we mun hev a sweat:
Let's drink to the lasses about us,
'Till Day's braid glare bids us start;
We'll sup
till the salier be empty-
Come, Wully, lad, boddom the quart.
I'll gi'e ye, says Wull, winkin Winny,
That measures exact three feet eight,
But wi' roun-shouder'd Ruth, or tall Tibby,
She'll scart, and she'll girn, and she'll feght;
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