Ah hinnies! out cum the king while we were there, His leuks seem’d to say, Bairns be happy; So down o’ my hunkers aw set up a blare, For God to preserve him frae Nappy; For Geordy aw’d die, for my loyalty’s trig, And aw own he’s a geud leuken mannie; But if wor Sir Matthew ye buss iv his wig, By gocks, he wad just leuk as canny. ’Bout Lunnun, &c. Ah hinnies! about us the lasses did loup, Thick as curns in a spice singin hinnie; Some aud, and some hardly flig’d owr the doup, But aw kend what they were by their whinnie: A’, mannie, says aw, ye hev mony a tite girl, But aw’m tell’d they’re oft het i’ their trappin: Aw’d cuddle much rather a lass i’ the Sworl, Than the dolls i’ the Strand, or i’ Wappin. ’Bout Lunnun, &c. Wiv a’ the stravaging aw wanted a munch, An’ ma thropple was ready te gizen; So we went tiv a yell house, and there teuk a lunch, But the reck’ning, my saul! was a bizon: Wiv hus i’ th’ North, when aw’m wairsh i’ my way, (But te knaw wor warm hearts, ye yur sell come) Aw lift the first latch, and baith man and dame say, “Cruck your hough, canny man, for ye’re welcome.” ’Bout Lunnun, &c. A shillin aw thought at the Play-house aw’d ware, But aw jump’d there wiv heuk-finger’d people; My pockets gat rip’d, and aw heard ne mair, Nor aw could frae Saint Nicholas’s steeple. Dang Lunnan! wor Play-house aw like just as weel, And wor play-folks aw’s shure are as funny: A shillin’s worth sarves me to laugh till aw squeel, Ne hallion there thrimmels ma money. ’Bout Lunnun, &c. The loss o’ the cotterels aw dinna regaird, For aw’ve getten some white-heft o’ Lunnun; Aw’ve learn’d to prefer my awn canny calf yaird; If ye catch me mair fra’t, ye’ll be cunnun. Aw knaw that the Cockneys crake rum-gum-shus chimes, To maek gam of wor bur, and wor ’parel; But honest Blind Willy shall string this iv rhymes, And aw’ll sing’d for a Christmas Carol. ’Bout Lunnun, &c. CROAKUM REDIVIVUS. _The Crow’s account of Newcastle, on her return to that Town in January, 1812._ ADDRESSED TO A BROTHER CROW. “Croney, its now near thirty year, Since here I saw thy face; And since that time, my honest bird, What change _here’s_ taken place. Gotham, in troth, is alter’d quite; Here’s nought as ’twas before: People nor town should I have known, Had I not heard the BURR.” Our steeple’s gone,[80] that lov’d abode, Where once we loudly croak’d Advice to Gotham’s aldermen; And with the freemen jok’d. Now Gotham, London fashions apes, They’ve every thing to tempt ye; Like the city--shops with showy fronts, And insides poor and empty.