THE BONNY CLOCK FYECE.

O Dick, what's kept ye a' this time? Aw've fretted sair about ye— Aw thought that ye'd fa'n in the Tyne, Then what wad aw duen without ye? O, hinny, Dolly, sit thee down, And hear the news aw've brought frae toon: The Newcassel folks hev catch'd a meun, And myed it a bonny clock-fyece! Thou knaws Saint Nicholas' Church, maw pet, Where we were tied tigither,— That place, aw knaw, thou'll not forget— Forget it aw will never: 'Twas there, then, jewel, aw saw the seet, As aw cam staggering through the street,— Aw thought it queer, at pick dark neet, Ti see a fiery clock-fyece. The folks they stood in flocks about— Aw cried—How! what's the matter? Aw glower'd—at last aw gav a shout, For them to fetch some water. The Church is a-fire, and very suen That bonny place will be brunt down. Ye fyul, says a chep, it's a bonny meun They've catch'd, and myed it a clock-fyece! On Monday, when aw gan to wark, Aw'll shurely tell our banksman, If we had such a leet at dark, We never wad break our shanks, man; Maw marrows and aw'll gan ti the toon, Ti see if we can catch a muen;— If we can only coax one doon, We'll myek't a bonny clock-fyece. Then if we get it down the pit, We'll hed stuck on a pole, man; 'Twill tell us hoo wor time gans on, Likewise to hew wor coal, man. So noo, maw pet, let's gan ti bed, And not forget the neet we were wed; Ti-morn we'll tell our uncle, Ned, About the bonny clock-fyece.