BATTLE ON THE SHIELDS RAILWAY,

I' the toon of Newcassel James Archbold dis dwell— He's a slater te trade, and thinks ne small beer on hissel', And in Gallowgate, just aside the Darn Crook, Stands his house amang smells that wad make a horse puke. I' the same toon a chep leeves, of varry great fame, For building fine houses—John Dobson's his nyem;— His awn stands in New Bridge Street, by way of example,— Blaw me if aw think it's a varry good sample. It happen'd on ——, the —— of November— A day these two worthies will ever remember; For Dobson was varry nigh kill'd, I suppose, And poor Mr. Archbold spoilt all his best clothes. The twesome to dine with John Sadler had been At Whitehill-point House, which is weel to be seen, A ye gan down to Shields; but aw'll begin my narration With the row that tuik place at the Howden-pan station. Efter dinner, when each yen his belly had fill'd, And some of Jack Sadler's wine had been swill'd, To gan hyem te Newcassel they left Whitehill-house; But, before they gat hyem, they gat a vast of abuse. The station they reach'd ere the train had got there, And they each tuik a ticket, and each paid his fare; The train it came up, and Dobson gat in, And was just gawn to start when the row did begin. Noo, yen of the pollismen placed at the station, With lang Jemmy Archbold had some altercation— "Your ticket, sir, I must now have from you?" "Not before I get in—I'll be d——d if you do." Upon this the pollisman gave Jemmy a push, And into the station-house all made a rush, And Dobson, noo seeing his friend in such guise, Jump'd out of the carriage, and went in likewise. But he gat a blow from a wooden hand, That made him quite sick, and he could not stand, And then cam another sic skelp on the hede, Had his sconce not been thick he wad hae been dede, Now, Dobson at yen time was very handy, And at schule he payed Tinley of Shields, the great dandy, And although he now had come to such skaith, Cried, "Lay by your wood hands and I'll lick ye baith." But the pollismen said, "Ye baith prisoners are, And to Shields ye mun gan, as it's not varry far;" And though now they began to be sick of the lark, To Shields they teun were, though it was efter dark. There they saw Mr. Cruddas and Inspector Scott, The hede of the pollis, wha pitied their lot, And releas'd and sent them hyem somewhat muddy— Poor Dobson the warst—he was baith sair and bloody. The next day, each yen to his 'torney went, The yen to Parce Fenwick, the other the Sargent, Crowner Stoker, whe's spectacles myeks him far-seeted— He's a h-ll of a fellow for getting folk reeted. A summons they gat—the men cuddent be seen, The directors detarmin'd the villains to screen, And what was still warse, and to save their mutton, Young Tinley tell'd Jackson, they had gone a shutten. Noo, as the summons cuddent be sarv'd, And the pollismen punish'd as they deserv'd, A warran was getten, and Newton, Allan, and all Were suin in the cellars beneath the Moot-hall. Noo the justices sat, to hear what they had to say, And twe cam frae Shields, for to see fair play; And William Branlen sat on the bench, Besides Sandy Ildertan, whe still likes a w—ch. There was doctors, and lawyers, and pollismen too, And of railway directors there was not a few, Including Dick Spoor, whe yence din'd with the queen— Sic a crew in the jury-room never was seen. Noo the crowner began, and he made a good speech, Call'd Archbold and Dobson, and, lastly, the Leech, Whe bound Dobson's hede, yen Mr. John Lang, Not "the family surgeon," but a rhyme for my sang. When Archbold was called, he said, with much grace, That Newton held the lanthorn reet in his fyece, And spoke in a manner baith rude and absord To the town-councillor for St. Andrew's West Ward. Next Dobson appears with his bloody claes, His hede all bund up, luiking pale, and he says, As how nyen o' them had getten ower much drink, As Torney Tinley wanted the justice to think. Now the crowner being ended, t'other side did begin, And Tinley he vapour'd, and they swore thick and thin; But aw'll say ne mair, lest you should be bor'd, But merely relate, that Jack Tinley was floor'd. And the justices said, 'twas a shem the directors Should set twe sic blackguards on the line for inspectors, And, addressing them byeth, said unto the men, Yer byeth fined—Allan five pounds, and you, Newton, ten. Noo, when aw seed the way the thing went, Thinks aw, the directors are surely content, And will myek the cheps 'mends, from the way they've been tret, But the warst of my story it is to come yet. Ne suiner was't knawn what the verdict was, Than the railway attorney, he out with the brass, And, flinging it doon, said, "Much good may it do yee! Gie me a resait, and set wor pollismen free." Noo sic wark as this, it is varry shocken, Folks canna gan te Shields without hevin their hedes brocken, And aw've myed up ma mind, if aw's not in a hurry, Te gan in Mitchell's fine boats, or Johnson's fam'd whurry. Folly Wharf, Nov. 35, 1839.