SUNDERLAND JAMMY'S LAMENTATION,

My sankers! we're all in a fine hobble now, Since the Cholera com tiv our river; Aw wadn't hae car'd if 'twas ought that one knew, But the outlandish nyem myeks one shiver: Our doctors are all in a deuce of a way. And some says they've Clannied to wrang us; But I think we may all curse the Daun o' that day, That the block-headed Board com amang us. Some says that Sir Cuddy deserves all the blyem, For lettin the ships up the watter— That brought ower the Cholera frev its awn hyem, And some says that myed little matter; But as woman's the root of all evil, ye see, (At least, all my life aw hev thought it,) Aw rather believe, as it's been tell'd to me, That it was one Mall Airey (Malaria) that brought it. This Chol'ra's the queerest thing e'er had a nyem, If one may believe what they're talking; It sometimes gets haud o' folks when they're at hyem, And sometimes when they're out a walking: Wey, my neybour of eighty, that deed t'other day, Folks thought that 'twas nature that fail'd him; But a doctor chep happ'ning to come by that way, Swore down thump 'twas the Chol'ra that ail'd him. Thur doctor cheps prent all the lees that they've tell'd; Ony nonsense—they never will mis't; My cheek wi' the tuith-wark hez getten all swell'd, And aw's warn't they'll haed down i' their list: Aw never was chol'ric, but quiet, aw's sure, Tho' wi' fear aw's grown sweaty and clammy; So smoke this wi' brumston to myek all secure, Aw's your servant, A Sunderland Jammy.