SANDGATE PANT;

The bell of St. Ann's toll'd two in the morning, As brave Skipper Johnson was gawn to the keel— From the juice of the barley his poor brain was burning— In search of relief he through Sandgate did reel; The city was hush, save the keel-bullies' snoring— The moon faintly gleam'd through the sable-clad sky— When lo! a poor female her hard fate deploring, Appear'd near the pant, and thus loudly did cry:— Ripe Chenee oranges, four for a penny! Cherry ripe cornberries—taste them and try! O listen, ye hero of Sandgate and Stella, Jin Jemieson kens that yor courage is trig, Go tell Billy Elli to meet me, brave fellow— Aw'll wait yor return on Newcassel Tyne Brig!— Oh, marcy! cried Johnson, yor looks gar me shiver! Maw canny lass, Jin, let me fetch him next tide; The spectre then frown'd—and he vanish'd for ever, While Sandgate did ring as she vengefully cried— Fine Chenee oranges, four for a penny! Cherry ripe cornberries—taste them and try! She waits for her lover, each night at this station, And calls her ripe fruit with a voice loud and clear; The keel-bullies listen in great consternation— Tho' snug in their huddocks, they tremble with fear! She sports round the pant till the cock, in the morning, Announces the day—then away she does fly Till midnight's dread hour—thus each maiden's peace scorning, They start from their couch as they hear her loud cry— Fine Chenee oranges, four for a penny! Cherry ripe cornberries—taste them and try!