Heads up, says one, ye silly sow, Ye dinna mind the word, man: Eyes right, says Tom, and wi’ a dam, And march off at the word, man: Did ever mortals see sic brutes, To order me to lift my kutes? Ad smash the fool, he stands and talks, How can he learn me to walk, That’s walk’d this forty year, man? Toll loll, &c. But should the Frenchmen shew their face Upon our waggon ways, man, Then there upon the road, you know, We’d make them end their days, man: Ay Bonaparte’s sel I’d take, And throw him in the burning heap, And with great speed I’d roast him deed; His marrows then I wad nae heed, We’d pick out a’ their een, man. Toll loll, &c. Says Willy Dunn to loyal Tom, Your words are all a joke, man; For Geordy winna hae your help, Ye’re sic kamstarie fowk, man: Then Willy lad, we’ll rest in peace, In hopes that a’ the wars may cease; But I’s gie ye, Wull, to understand, As lang as I can wield my hand, There’s nane but George shall reign, man. Toll loll, &c. Enough of this has shure been said, Cry’d Cowardly Willy Dunn, man; For should the Frenchmen come this way, We’d be ready for to run, man. Gad smash you for a fool, says Tom, For if I could not use my gun, I’d take my pick, I’d hew them down, And run and cry through a’ the town, God save great George our king, man. Toll loll, &c. THE COLLIERS’ PAY WEEK. The Baff week is o’er--no repining-- Pay-Saturday’s swift on the wing; At length the blythe morning comes shining, When kelter makes colliers sing: ’Tis Spring, and the weather is cheary, The birds whistle sweet on the spray; Now coal working lads, trim and airy, To Newcastle town hie away. Those married jog on with their _hinnies_, Their canny bairns go by their side; The daughters keep teazing their minnies For new cloaths to keep up their pride: They plead--Easter Sunday does fear them, For, if they have nothing that’s new, The _Crow_, spiteful bird! will besmear them; Oh then! what a sight for to view! The young men, full blithsome and jolly, March forward, all decently clad; Some lilting up, “_Cut-and-dry, Dolly_,” Some singing, “_The bonny Pit Lad_:” The pranks that were play’d at last binding Engage some in humourous chat; Some halt by the way-side on finding Primroses to place in their hat. Bob Cranky, Jack Hogg, and Dick Marley, Bill Hewitt, Luke Carr, and Tom Brown, In one jolly squad set off early From Benwell to Newcastle town: Such hewers as they (none need doubt it) Ne’er handled a shovel or pick; In high or low seam they could suit it, In regions next door to Old Nick.