Where hast’te been, ma’ canny hinny? An where hast’te been, ma’ bonny bairn? Aw was up and down seekin ma’ hinny, Aw was thro’ the town seekin for my bairn; Aw went up the Butcher Bank and down Grundin Chare, Call’d at the Dun Cow, but aw cuddent find thee there. Where hast’te been, ma’ canny hinny? An where hast’te been, ma’ bonny bairn, &c. Then aw went t’ th’ Cassel Garth, and caw’d on Johnny Fife. The beer drawer tell’d me she ne’er saw thee in her life. Where hast’te been, &c. Then aw went into the three bulls heads, and down the Lang Stairs, And a’ the way alang the Close, as far as Mr Mayor’s. Where hast’te been, &c. Fra there aw went alang the brig, an up t’ Jackson’s Chare, Then back again t’ the Cross Keys, but cuddent find thee there. Where hast’te been, &c. Then comin out o’ Pipergate, aw met wi’ Willy Rigg, Whe tell’d me that he saw thee stannin p----n on the brig. Where hast’te been, &c. Cummin alang the brig again, aw met wi’ Cristy Gee, He tell’d me et he saw thee gannin down Humeses entery. Where hast’te been, &c. Where hev aw been! aw sune can tell ye that; Cummin up the Key, aw met wi’ Peter Pratt, Meetin Peter Pratt, we met wi’ Tommy Wear, An went t’ Humeses t’ get a gill o’ beer. There’s where a’ve been, ma’ canny hinny, There’s where a’ve been, ma’ bonny lam. Wast’tu up an down seekin for yur hinny? Wast’tu up an down seeking for yur lam. Then aw met yur Ben, an we were like to fight; An when we cam to Sandgate it was pick night; Crossin the road, aw met wi’ Bobby Swinny: Hing on the girdle, let’s hev a singin hinny. Aw my sorrow’s ower now, a’ve fund my hinny, Aw my sorrow’s ower now, a’ve fund my bairn; Lang may aw shout, ma’ canny hinny, Lang may aw shout, ma’ bonny bairn. DOL LI A. _A Song famous in Newcastle about the Years 1792-3-4._ Fresh I’m cum fra Sandgate Street, Do li, do li, My best friends here to meet, Do li a, Dol li th’ dil len dol, Do li, do li, Dol li th’ dil len dol, Dol li a. The Black Cuffs is gawn away, Do li, do li, An that will be a crying day. Do li a, &c. Dolly Coxon’s pawn’d her sark, Do li, do li, To ride upon the baggage cart. Do li a, &c. The Green Cuffs is cummin in, Do li, do li, An that ’ill make the lasses sing. Do li a, &c. THE TYNE. _By J. Gibson, of Newcastle._ Roll on thy way, thrice happy Tyne! Commerce and riches still are thine; Thy sons in every art shall shine, And make thee more majestic flow.