There’s Branson, an honest fellow, He hath sugar enough in store, If cloves and mace be wanting, We will boldly run on the score; For our wanton frolic is begun, And we’ll end it most merrily; And the wanton lasses of Sedgfield Are roaring company.
Two wives I had almost forgotten, Whom I must touch in the quick, Being merry at Mr Branson’s, They danc’d round the candlestick; And the tune was “_Juice of the Barley_,” Which made them dance merrily, And long did they hold a parley, And made jolly company.
In the midst of this great pother, The backish wife came in, She was forc’d to be led by another, Thro’ thick and likewise thin. And thus they did end their frolick, Good fellow, I’ll tell to thee, That the ranting lasses of Sedgfield Are roaring company.
Bobby Shaftoe’s gone to sea, With silver buckles at his knee; He’ll come home and marry me, Bonny Bobby Shaftoe.
Bobby Shaftoe’s bright and fair, Combing down his yellow hair, He’s ma’ ain for ever mair, Bonny Bobby Shaftoe.
Bobby Shaftoe’s getten a bairn, For to dandle in his arm; In his arm, and on his knee, Bobby Shaftoe loves me. Bobby Shaftoe’s gone to sea, &c.
In the fine town of Sunderland which stands on a hill, Which stands on a hill most noble to see, There’s fishing and fowling all in the same town: Every man to his mind, but Sunderland for me.
There’s dancing and singing also in the same town, And many hot scolds there are in the week; ’Tis pleasant indeed the market to see, And the young maids that are mild and meek.
The damsels of Sunderland would, if they could, Welcome brave sailors, when they come from sea, Build a fine tower of silver and gold: Every man to his mind, but Sunderland for me.
The young men of Sunderland are pretty blades, And when they come in with these handsome maids, They kiss and embrace, and compliment free: Every man to his mind, but Sunderland for me.
In Silver-street there lives one Isabel Rod, She keeps the best ale the town can afford, For gentlemen to drink till they cannot see: Every man to his mind, but Sunderland for me.
Sunderland’s a fine place, it shines where it stands, And the more I look on it the more my heart warms; And if I was there I would make myself free: Every man to his mind, but Sunderland for me.