Come, landlady, fill us a bumper, And take no thought for the shot, It’s a sin, as I hope to be saved, To part with an empty pot; Let the glass go merrily round, Our business is jolly to be, And the wanton lasses of Sedgfield Are roaring company. Who are they that dare to oppose us, Since altogether we’re met? We’ll tipple and fuddle our noses, Our frolic the more to complete: For our frolic it is begun, And we will end it merrily; And the ranting lasses of Sedgfield Are roaring company. There’s Middleton as brisk as a bottle, She merrily leads the van, And Crispe, the butcher’s daughter, She’ll follow as fast as she can. There’s the sempstress and her sister, The rear drive merrily; And the ranting lasses of Sedgfield Are roaring company. Each one shall here take her quantum, Thus says brave Middleton; We’ll drink a health to Peg Trantum, And merrily we’ll go on; Let the shot be ever so great, I’ll speak to my landlady; And the ranting lasses of Sedgfield Are roaring company. There’s a brave sinking tailor, That hath a brisk handsome wife, And she will convey him the flaggon, To avoid all future strife: And the baker at the next door, She will be the landlady; And the ranting lasses of Sedgfield Are roaring company. There’s Branson, an honest fellow, He hath sugar enough in store, If cloves and mace be wanting, We will boldly run on the score; For our wanton frolic is begun, And we’ll end it most merrily; And the wanton lasses of Sedgfield Are roaring company. Two wives I had almost forgotten, Whom I must touch in the quick, Being merry at Mr Branson’s, They danc’d round the candlestick; And the tune was “_Juice of the Barley_,” Which made them dance merrily, And long did they hold a parley, And made jolly company. 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 thin. And thus they did end their frolick, Good fellow, I’ll tell to thee, That the ranting lasses of Sedgfield Are roaring company. BOBBY SHAFTOE. Bobby Shaftoe’s gone to sea, With silver buckles at his knee; He’ll come home and marry me, Bonny Bobby Shaftoe. Bobby Shaftoe’s bright and fair, Combing down his yellow hair, He’s ma’ ain for ever mair, Bonny Bobby Shaftoe. Bobby Shaftoe’s getten a bairn, For to dandle in his arm; In his arm, and on his knee, Bobby Shaftoe loves me. Bobby Shaftoe’s gone to sea, &c. 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.