There’s ne’er a lad like ma’ lad, Drives to a staith on Tyne; Tho’ coal-black on work days, On holidays he’s fine. Ma’ lad’s a bonny lad, The bonniest I see; Wiv his fine posey waistcoat, And buckles at his knee. BRANDLING AND RIDLEY. Brandling for ever, and Ridley for aye, Brandling and Ridley carries the day! Brandling for ever, and Ridley for aye, There’s plenty of coals on our waggon way. There’s wood for to cut, and coals for to hew, And the bright star of Heaton will carry us through: Ridley for ever, and Brandling for aye, There’s plenty of coals on our waggon way. MY LADDIE. My laddie sits owre late up, My laddie sits owre late up, My laddie sits owre late up, With the pint pot and the cup. How Johnny cum hame to yur bairn, How Johnny cum hame to yur bairn, How Johnny cum hame to yur bairn, Wiv a rye loaf under yur airm. He addles three ha’pence a week, That’s nobbit a fardin a day; He sits with a pipe in his cheek, And he fuddles his money away. My laddie is never the near, My laddie is never the near: And when I cry out, “Lad, cum hame!” He calls out again for mair beer. My laddie sits, &c. THE SANDGATE LASSIE’s LAMENT. _BY HENRY ROBSON._ They’ve prest my dear Johnny, Sae sprightly and bonny,-- Alack! I shall ne’er mair d’ weel, O: The kidnapping squad, Laid hold of my lad, As he was unmooring the keel, O. O my sweet laddie, My canny keel laddie, Sae handsome, sae canty, and free, O; Had he staid on the Tyne, Ere now he’d been mine, But oh! he’s far over the sea, O. Should he fall by commotion, Or sink in the ocean, (May sick tidings ne’er come to the _Key_, O) I could ne’er mair be glad, For the loss of my lad Wad break my poor heart, and I’d _dee_, O! O my sweet laddie, &c. But should my dear tar Come safe from the war, What heart-bounding joy wad I feel, O; To the church we wad flee, And married be, And again he shall row in his keel, O. O my sweet laddie, &c. O my sweet laddie, My canny keel laddie, Sae handsome, sae canty, and free, O: Tho’ far from the Tyne, I still hope he’ll be mine, And live happy as any can be, O. O my sweet laddie, &c. THE INVITATION. Neighbours I’m come for to tell ye, our skipper and Moll’s to be wed, And if it be true what they’re saying, egad we’ll be all rarely fed; They’ve brought home a shoulder of mutton, besides two thumping fat geese, And when at the fire they’re roasting, we’re all to have sops in the grease. Blind Willy’s to play on the fiddle.