THE FROLICSOME OLD WOMEN OF SUNDERLAND: _Or, The Disappointed Young Maids._
_Tune_--They’ll marry tho’ threescore and ten.
You Sunderland lasses draw near, Sure you are forsaken by men; But the old women, they Forget for to play, But will get married at three score and ten.
You Sunderland lasses are slow, And yet there’s good choice of young men; The old women, they Do shew you fair play, They get married at threescore and ten.
A house that’s within full sea mark, Is very well accustomed by men; But better had they To live honest, I say, Or get married at threescore and ten.
There are sailors that are clever young blades, And keel-bullies like unto them; You maids that are fair, Get married this year, Lest you tarry till threescore and ten.
The old women carry the day, They beat both the maids and the men; To give Sunderland the sway, For ever and ay, They’ll marry tho’ threescore and ten.
Ye sons of Sunderland, with shouts that rival ocean’s roar, Hail Burdon in his iron boots, who strides from shore to shore! O may ye firm support each leg, or much, O much I fear, Poor Rowland may o’erstretch himself in striding ’cross the Wear! A patent quickly issue out, lest some more bold than he, Should put on larger iron boots, and stride across the sea! Then let us pray for speedy peace, lest Frenchmen should come over, And, fol’wing Burdon’s iron plan, from Calais stride to Dover.
ELSIE MARLEY, _An Alewife at Picktree, near Chester-le-Street._
Elsie Marley is grown so fine, She won’t get up to serve her swine, But lies in bed till eight or nine, And surely she does take her time.
And do you ken Elsie Marley, honey? The wife that sells the barley, honey; She’s lost her pocket and all her money, Aback o’ the bush i’ th’ garden, honey.
Elsie Marley is so neat, It is hard for one to walk the street, But every lad and lass they meet, Cries, do you ken Elsie Marley, honey?
Elsie Marley wore a straw hat, Now she’s got a velvet cap, She may thank Lambton men for that, Do you ken Elsie Marley, honey.
Elsie keeps wine, gin, and ale, In her house below the dale. Where every tradesman up and down, Does call and spend his half-a-crown.
The farmers, as they come that way, They drink with Elsie every day, And call the fiddler for to play The tune of “_Elsie Marley_,” honey.