Читать книгу The Newcastle Song Book; or, Tyne-Side Songster - Various - Страница 33

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Or, Mally's Mistake.

As Jackey sat lowsin his buttons,

And rowlin his great backey chow,

The bells o' the toon 'gan to tinkle;

Cries Mally, What's happen'd us now?

Ho! jump and fling off thy au'd neet-cap,

And slip on thy lang-quarter'd shoes,

Ere thou gets hauf way up the Key,

Ye'll meet sum that can tell ye the news.

Fol de rol, &c.

As Mally was puffin an' runnin,

A gentleman's flonkey she met;

'Canny man, ye mun tell us the news,

Or ye'll set wor au'd man i' the pet.'

The Mayor of Bourdeaux, a French noble,

Has com'd to Newcassel with speed:

To neet he sleeps sound at wor Mayor's,

And to morn he'll be at the Queen's Heed.

Fol de rol, &c.

Now Mally thank'd him wiv a curtsey,

And back tiv her Jackey did prance:

'Mary Mordox, a fine Fitter's Leydy's

Com'd ower in a coble frae France.'

'Mary Mordox, a fine Fitter's Leydy!

Ise warrant she's some frolicksome jade,

And com'd to Newcassel for fashions,

Or else to suspect the Coal Trade.'

Fol de rol, &c.

So to Peter's thou's gan i' the mornin,

Gan suin an' thou'll get a good pleyce;

If thou canna get haud of her paw,

Thou mun get a guid luick at her fyece:

And if ye can but get a word at her,

And mind now ye divent think shem,

Say, 'Please, ma'm, they ca' my wife Mary,

Wor next little bairn's be the syem.'

Fol de rol, &c.

So betimes the next mornin he travels,

And up to the Queen's Head he goes,

Where a skinny chep luik'd frev a winder,

Wi' white powther'd wig an' lang nose:

A fine butterflee coat wi' gowld buttons,

A' man! how the folks did hurro;

Aw thowt he'd fled from some toy-shop i' Lunnin,

Or else frae sum grand wax-work show.

Fol de rol, &c.

Smash! Mally, ye've tell'd a big lee,

For a man's not a woman, aw'll swear:

But he hardly had spoken these words,

Till out tumbled a cask o' strang beer:

Like a cat Jackey flang his leg ower,

Ay, like Bacchus he sat at his ease,

Tiv aw's fuddled, odsmash! ye may tauk

Yor French gabberish as lang as ye please.

Fol de rol, &c.

They crush'd sair, but Jack never minded,

Till wi' liquor he'd lowsen'd his bags;

At last a great thrust dang him ower,

He lay a' his lang length on the flags:

Iv an instant Mall seiz'd his pea jacket,

Says she, is thou drunk, or thou's lyem?

The Mayors o' wor box! smash, aw'm fuddled!

O Mally, wilt thou lead me hyem.

Fol de rol, &c.