Maw Bonny Strite-Hair'd Lad!
                      Teun- "Peggy Bawn."

                      On Newcassel Jail's dark gloomy walls
                      Sally Turnbull sadly gazed,
                      Sigh efter sigh broke throo her lips,
                      An then her voice she raised:-
                      "Maw bonny son!-oh, my bonny bairn
                      Tho he's got six munse i' quad,
                      He's still me awn, he''s me pet, me Bill,
                      He's me bonny strite-hair'd lad!

                      "Twes just last Seturday efterneun
                      'Poor Bill went oot for a wark,
                      Te the Market, for he likes that place,
                      But he nivvor mair com back,
                      For a paltry rabbit teuk his eye,
                      An' his appetite's not bad,
                      So he teuk't, tho mind ye, just on tick,
                      Tid me bonny strite-hair'd lad!

                      "But the warst on't he had nivvor axt
                      The man's permisshun te did,
                      An' a big fat Bobby i' private claes,
                      Thowt wor Bill had ne reet wid;
                      So he teuk him te the stayshun hoose,
                      An' it's nearly drove us mad,
                      A better-like lad nivvor suffer'd i' quad
                      Then me bonny strite-haired lad!

                      "Aw's sure he wad paid for'd there an' then,
                      If he'd had the money, poor lad,
                      He always wes fond ov a rabbit-pie,
                      An' black puddins in't myed him glad;
                      In fact, he liked rabbits at ony time,
                      An' at Koorsins, - forst i' the squad,
                      A fine bred bul-an-tarrier bitch
                      Wes the pride o' me strite-hair'd lad!

                      "Not Guilty! he said i' the kort as plain
                      As ivvor a body cud said,
                      An' still they waddent believe his words,--
                      But Billy they cannot degrade
                      P the eyes of his muther, fond an' true,
                      Tho thor's nyen i' the world se bad,
                      He'll still find a place i'; the por aud heart,
                      That greets for her strite-hair'd lad1"

                      -Joe Wilson