WRECKENTON HIRING.

Oh, Lads and Lasses, hither come To Wreckenton, to see the fun, And mind ye bring your Sunday shoon, There'll be rare wark wi' dancing-o. And Lasses now, without a brag, Bring pockets like a fiddle bag, Ye'll get them cramm'd wi' mony a whag Of pepper-kyek an' scranchim-o. And Bess put on that bonny goon Thy mother bought thou at the toon; That straw-hat wi' the ribbons broon, They'll a' be buss'd that's coming-o: Put that reed ribbon round thy waist, It myeks thou luik sae full o' grace, Then up the lonnen come in haste, They'll think thou's com'd frae Lunnen-o. Ned pat on his Sunday's coat, His hat and breeches cost a note, With a new stiff'ner round his throat, He luikt the very dandy-o: He thought that he was gaun to choke, For he'd to gyep before he spoke: He met Bess at the Royal Oak, They had baith yell and brandy-o. Each lad was there wi' his sweetheart, And a' was ready for a start, When in com Jack wi' Fanny Smart, And brought a merry Scraper-o: Then Ned jump'd up upon his feet, And on the table myed a seat; Then bounc'd the Fiddler up a heet, Saying, 'Play and we will caper-o.' Now Ned and Bess led off the ball, 'Play Smash the windows,' he did call, 'Keep in yor feet,' says Hitchy Mall, Learn'd dancers hae sic prancing-o:' Now Ned was nowther lyeth nor lyem, And faith he had baith bouk and byen, Ye wad thought his feet was myed o' styen, He gav sic thuds wi' dancing-o. Now Jackey Fanny's hand did seize, Cry'd, 'Fiddler, tune your strings to please!' Play, 'Kiss her weel amang the trees,' She is my darlin', bliss her-o! Then off they set, wi' sic a smack, They myed the joints a' bend and crack: When duen he took her round the neck, And faith he dident miss her-o. The fiddler's elbow wagg'd a' neet, He thought he wad dropt off his seat, For deil a bit they'd let him eat, They were sae keen o' dancin'-o. Some had to strip their coats for heet, And sarks and shifts were wet wi' sweet! They cramm'd their guts, for want o' meat, Wi' ginger-breed and scranchim-o. Now cocks had crawn an hour or more, And ower the yell-pot some did snore; But how they luikt to hear the roar Of Matt, the King Pit caller-o! 'Smash him!' says Ned, 'he mun be rang, He's callin' through his sleep, aw's war'n;' Then shootin' to the door he ran— 'Thou's asleep, thou rousty bawler-o!' Now they danc'd agyen till it was day, And then went hyem—but, by the way, Some of them had rare fun, they say, And fand it nine months after-o: Such tricks are play'd by heedless youth; And though they're common, north and south, That's nae excuse for breach of truth, Nor food for wit and laughter-o. Suen Wreckenton will bear the sway, Two Members they'll put in, they say; Then wor Taxes will be duen away, And we'll a' sing now or never-o: Backey and Tea will be sae cheap, Wives will sit up when they sud sleep, And we'll float in yell at wor Pay-week, Then Wreckenton for ever-o.