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The M O R P E T H G A R L A N D, &c.
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The Morpeth Wedding; or, The drunken Frolick.
To the Tune of, Gilly Crankey.
THE like was never heard nor ſeen,
For oft Times I've been bidden,
’Tween Morpeth, Benridge, and Bowlsgreen,
But ne'er to ſuch a Wedding.
There's ne'er a Wight I dare well ſay,
Seek Tweed and all the Border;
At Supper-time began the Fray,
At Midnight cry’d out Murder.
Then Cuddy he click'd up the Cup,
Stout Stephen now have at thee;
Jockey and Jenny drank it up,
And Beſſy fetch'd Tobacco:
And Roger rave him by the Roof,
And he ſtruck neareſt Hand him;
Stout Stephen he's fell’d with a Cuff,
And on the Floor they fand him.
And tidey Tom lay on the Floor,
Which made him loſe his Hold there;
Miſchievous Martin, with a Stool,
Fell'd Francis ſtark and cald there:
