They talk'd of the gale as they sat,
And how a' hands were lost-very nigh.
The skipper roar'd out for a drink,

P. D. ran to bring him the cann,
But odsmash! mun! what d'ye think?-
He coup'd a' the flesh out o' the pan!

upsel

Fal lal, &c.

'MA' CANNY HINNY.

WHERE hast'te been, ma' canny hinny?
An where hast'te been, ma' bonny bairn?
Aw was up and down seekin ma' hinny,
Aw was thro' the town seekin for my bairn;

Aw went up the Butcher Bank and down Grundin Chare,
Call'd at the Dun Cow, but aw cuddent find thee there.

Where hast'te been, ma' canny hinny?

An where hast'te been, ma' bonny bairn, &c.

Then aw went t' th' Cassel Garth, and caw'd on Johnny Fife. The beer drawer tell'd me she ne'er saw thee in her life.

Where hast'te been, &c.

Then aw went into the three bulls heads, and down the Lang Stairs,

And a' the way alang the Close, as far as Mr Mayor's.

Where hast'te been, &c.

Fra there aw went alang the brig, an up t' Jackson's Chare,
Then back again t' the Cross Keys, but cuddent find thee there.
Where hast'te been, &c.

Then comin out o' Pipergate, aw met wi' Willy Rigg,
Whe tell'd me that he saw thee stannin pn on the brig.
Where hast'te been, &c.

Cummin alang the brig again, aw met wi' Cristy Gee,
He tell'd me et he saw thee gannin down Humeses entery.
Where hast'te been, &c.

Where hev aw been! aw sune can tell ye that;
Cummin up the Key, aw met wi' Peter Pratt,
Meetin Peter Pratt, we met wi' Tommy Wear,
An went t' Humeses t' get a gill o' beer.

There's where a've been, ma' canny hinny,
There's where a've been, ma' bonny lam.
Wast'tu up an down seekin for yur hinny?
Wast❜tu up an down seeking for yur lam.

Then aw met yur Ben, an we were like to fight;
An when we cam to Sandgate it was pick night;
Crossin the road, aw met wi' Bobby Swinny:
Hing on the girdle, let's hev a singin hinny.

Aw my sorrow's ower now, a've fund my hinny,
Aw my sorrow's ower now, a've fund my bairn;
Lang may aw shout, ma' canny hinny,
Lang may aw shout, ma' bonny bairn.

DOL LI A.

A Song famous in Newcastle about the Years 1792-3-4.

FRESH I'm cum fra Sandgate Street,

Do li, do li,

My best friends here to meet,

Do li a,

Dol li th' dil len dol,

Do li, do li,

Dol li th' dil len dol,
Dol li a.

The Black Cuffs is gawn away,

Do li, do li,

ROLL on thy way, thrice happy Tyne!
Commerce and riches still are thine;
Thy sons in every art shall shine,

And make thee more majestic flow.

The busy crowd that throngs thy sides,
And on thy dusky bosom glides,
With riches swell thy flowing tides,

And bless the soil where thou dost flow.

Thy valiant sons, in days of old,
Led by their Chieftains, brave and bold,
Fought not for wealth, or shining gold,
But to defend thy happy shores.

So e'en as they of old have bled,

And oft embrac'd a gory

bed,

Thy modern sons, by Ridleys led,.

Shall rise to shield thy peace-crown'd shores,

Nor art thou blest for this alone,
That long thy sons in arms have shone ;
For every art to them is known,

And science, form'd to grace the mind.

Art, curb'd by War in former days,
Has now burst forth in one bright blaze;
And long shall his refulgent rays

Shine bright, and darkness leave behind.

The Muses too, with Freedom crown'd,
Shall on thy happy shores be found,
And fill the air with joyous sound

Of War and Darkness' overthrow.

Then roll thy way, thrice happy Tyne !
Commerce and riches still are thine!
Thy sons in arts and arms shall shine,
And make thee still majestic flow.

BLACKETT's FIELD.*

BY J. SHIELD, OF NEWCASTLE.

Tune-John Anderson my Jo.

NEAR Blackett's Field, sad hov'ring, ('Twas but the other day,)

Thus sung a melancholy wight

His pity-moving lay :

How comes this alteration strange !

What can the matter be,

That the brave Association Lads
Are under lock and key?

On account of the confined limits of the Parade Ground of the Loyal Newcastle Associated Corps of Volunteer Infantry, it was found neceffary to lock the door during the time of drill, to prevent the crowd interfering with the evolutions of the corps.-This circumstance gave rise to the fong.

Ah! lately, on a Sunday,
To dine I hardly staid,-
But from my beef and pudding ran,
T'attend the gay parade!
Now I may stay and pick my bones,
From anxious hurry free;
For the brave Association Lads
Are under lock and key!

A dimpling smile still grac'd my cheek,
Brave D***n when I saw;
"Twas worth a crown to hear him, too,
Exclaiming Kiver awa'!'

But thus to feast my eyes and ears
No more my lot shall be ;

For the brave Association Lads
Are under lock and key!

To church now, when the bells are heard,

With snail-like pace I creep;

And there, in manner most devout,
Compose myself to sleep!

Thus cheerless pass the ling'ring hours,
So lately fraught with glee,

Ere the brave Association Lads
Were under lock and key!

For pity's sake, then, Ridley!
Thy turnkeys straight discharge,
And let thy armed Patriots

Again be drill'd at large:
So shall my Sunday afternoons,
In gazing, joyous flee,

When the brave Association Lads
Ar'n't under lock and key!

Think-urg'd by curiosity,
To climb the Spital walls,
Should any of thy neighbours there,
Sad, break their necks by falls,