Fishwives' Complaint

The merry day hez getten past,
And we are aw myest broken hearted:
Ye've surely deun for us at last--
Frae Sandhill, noo, ye hev us parted.

Oh! hinnies, Corporation!
A! marcy, Corporation!
Ye hev deun a shemful deed,
To force us frae wor canny station.

It's nee use being iv a rage,
For a' wor pride noo fairly sunk is--
Ye've cramm'd us in a Dandy Cage,
Like yellow-yowlies, bears, and monkies:
O hinnies, &c.

The cau'd East wind blaws i' wor teeth--
With iron bars we are surrounded;
It's better far to suffer deeth,
Than thus to hev wor feelings wounded.
O hinnies, &c.

Wor haddocks, turbot, cod, and ling,
Are lost tiv a' wor friends' inspection;
Genteelish folk from us tyek wing,
For fear of catching some infection.
O hinnies, &c.

O, kind Sir Matt.--ye bonny Star,
Gan to the King, and show this ditty--
Tell him what canny folks we are,
And make him free us frae this Kitty.
O hinnies, &c.

If ye succeed, agyen we'll sing--
Sweet Madge, wor Queen, will ever bless ye;
And poor au'd Jemmy tee, wor King,
With a' us fishwives will caress ye.
O hinnies, &c.