THE COBBLER O' MORPETH—(Cholera Morbus.)

The Cobbler o' Morpeth myeks sic noise, He frights the country round, sirs; That if yen i' the guts hez pain, By the Plague they think he's doom'd, sirs. It was but just the tother day, A Skipper, when at Sheels, sirs, Drank yell till he cou'd hardly see, Or ken his head frae heels, sirs. Bow, wow, wow, &c. Wi' much ta dee he reach'd his hyem, But hoo, aw canna tell ye; When thunnering at the door he cries, And blubbers out 'Wife Nelly— Oh Nell, maw guts are varra bad, Aw'm sartin aw shall dee, now, For that d——d plague that's killing a', Th' Cobbler o' Morpeth's in me, now.' Bow, wow, wow, &c. 'The Cobbler o' Morpeth! whe is he? Hez he brak frae the jail, now?'— 'Hout no, ye fule, Jack Russ he's caw'd, An' kills folks by wholesale, now. Somehow he creeps up the back way; Aye it's true as deeth, maw Nelly— For now he's dancin thro' and thro', And up and down maw belly.' Bow, wow, wow, &c. Tom sigh'd and moan'd, and kick'd and groan'd, Wi' mony a writhe and start, sirs, And swore that for a new lapstane, The Cobbler had ta'en his heart, sirs. He blether'd 'Nell, now divent ye hear His rumbling and his raking, He twists and twines maw tripes sae sair, Sure o' them he's wax-ends making.' Bow, wow, wow, &c. Now Nell aff ran to Doctor Belch, And tell'd Tom's case in fright, sirs, Wha gav her stuff whilk varra seun Set Tommy's guts to right, sirs. And when that his sad pain was eas'd, He blam'd nyen but himsel, sirs, But swore he ne'er agyen at Sheels Wad drink their d——d new yell, sirs. Bow, wow, wow, &c.

Now, neighbours, divent drink to excess— A canny sober course steer; Be cleanly, and be temperate, And the Cobbler o' Morpeth ne'er fear. But if he should amang huz come, To th' Infirm'ry we will send him; And seun they'll purge his au'd saul out, If that they cannot mend him. Bow, wow, wow, &c.