In the midst of this great pother,
The backish wife came in,

She was forc'd to be led by another,
Thro' thick and likewise thro' thin.
And thus they did end their frolic,
Good fellow I'll tell to thee,
And the ranting lasses of Sedgfield
Are roaring company.

SONG XII.

THE PLEASURES OF SUNDERLAND.

In the fine town of Sunderland, which stands on a hill,
Which stands on a hill most noble to see,

There's fishing and fowling all in the same town,
Every man to his mind, but Sunderland for me.

There's dancing and singing also in the same town,
And many hot scolds there are in the week;
'Tis pleasant indeed the market to see,

And the young maids that are mild and meek.

The damsels of Sunderland would, if they could,
To welcome brave sailors, when they come from sea,
Build a fine tower of silver and gold;

Every man to his mind, but Sunderland for me.

The young men of Sunderland are pretty blades,
And when they come in with these handsome maids,
They kiss and embrace, and compliment free;
Every man to his mind, but Sunderland for me

In silver-street there lives one Isabel Rod
She steeps the best ale the town can afford
For gentlemen to drink till they cannot see
Every man to his mind, but Sunderland for me.

Sunderland's a fine place, it shines where it stands, And the more I look on it the more my heart warms; And if I was there I would make myself free:

Every man to his mind, but Sunderland for me.

SONG XIII.

THE FROLICSOME OLD WOMEN OF
SUNDERLAND,

OR, THE DISAPPOINTED YOUNG MAIDS.

To the Tune of, They'll marry, tho' threescore and ten.

You Sunderland lasses draw near,

Sure you are forsaken by men

But the old women, they

Forget for to play

But will get married at threescore and ten.

You Sunderland lasses are slow,

And yet there's good choice of young men ;

The old women, they

Do shew you fair play,

They get married at threescore and ten.

A house that's within full sea mark,

Is very well accustomed by men;

But better had they

To live honest, I say,

Or get married at threescore and ten.

There are sailors that are clever young blades, And keel-bullies like unto them,

You maids that are fair,

Get married this year,

Lest you tarry till threescore and ten.

The old women carry the day

They beat both the maids and the men
To give Sunderland the sway,
For ever and ay,

They'll marry tho' threescore and ten.