THE NEW KEEL ROW.

Whe's like my Johnny, Sae leish, sae blithe, sae bonny? He's foremost 'mang the mony Keel lads o' Coaly Tyne; He'll set or row sae tightly, Or in the dance sae sprightly, He'll cut and shuffle sightly: 'Tis true—were he not mine. Weel may the keel row, The keel row, the keel row, Weel may the keel row, That my laddie's in: He wears a blue bonnet, A bonnet, a bonnet, He wears a blue bonnet, A dimple in his chin. He's nae mair o' learning, Than tells his weekly earning, Yet reet frae wrang discerning, Tho' brave, nae bruiser he: Tho' he no worth a plack is, His awn coat on his back is, And nyen can say that black is The white o' Johnny's e'e. Weel may the keel row, &c. He takes his quairt right dearly, Each comin' pay-day, nearly, Then talks O, latin O—cheerly, Or mavies jaws away; How caring not a feather, Nelson and he together, The springey French did lether. And gar'd them shab away. Weel may the keel row, &c. We're a' kings comparely, In each I'd spy a fairly, An' ay wad Johnny barly, He gets sic bonny bairns: Go bon, the queen, or misses, But wad, for Johnny's kisses, Luik upon as blisses, Scrimp meals, caff beds, and dairns. Weel may the keel row, &c. Wor lads, like their deddy, To fight the French are ready; But gie's a peace that's steady, And breed cheep as langsyne; May a' the press-gang perish, Each lass her laddie cherish: Lang may the Coal Trade flourish Upon the dingy Tyne. Weel may the keel row, &c. Breet Star o' Heaton, You're ay wor darling sweet on'; May heaven's blessings leet on Your lyedy, bairns, and ye! God bless the King and Nation! Each bravely fill his station: Our canny Corporation, Lang may they sing, wi' me, Weel may the keel row, &c.