Subject: Lyr Add: THE COBBLER O' MORPETH
From:
Conrad Bladey (Peasant- Inactive)
Date: 07 May 00 - 09:02 AM
The Cobbler O' Morpeth
Cholera Morbus The Cobblerr 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 tother day,
A skipper, when at Shjeels, sirs,
Drank yell till he cou'd hardly see,
Or ken his head frae heels, sirs. Chorus-
Bow, wow,wow, &c. Wi' much ta de he reach'd his hyem,
But hoo,m aw cann 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'
The' Cobbler o' Morpeth's in me now 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, may Nelly--
For now he's dancin thro' and thro,
And up and down may belly. Tom sigh'd and moan'd and kick'd and groan'd,
Wi' moony 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 rumblings and his raking,
He twists and twines maw tripes sae sair,
Sure o' them he's wax-ends making. Now Nell aff ran to Doctor Belch,
And tell'd Tom's case in fright, sirs,
Wha gav her stuff whik 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. 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. John M'Lellan.-In: The Newcastle Song Book or Tyne-Side Songster., W&T Fordyce
Newcastle Upon Tyne.
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