Chapter II: Part 2

Then to parade the Pitmen went,
Wi' hearts byeth stout an' strang, man;
Gad smash the French! we are sae strang,
We'll shoot them every one, man!
Gad smash me sark! if aw wad stick
To tumble them a' down the pit,
As fast as aw could thraw a coal,
Aw'd tumble them a' doon the hole,
An' close her in abuin, man.
Tol lol de rol, &c.

Heads up! says yen, ye silly sow,
Ye dinna mind the word, man:
Eyes right! says Tom, and wi' a dam,
And march off at the word, man:
Did ever mortals see sic brutes,
To order me to lift me cutes!
Ad smash the fuil! he stands and talks,
How can he learn me to walk,
That's walk'd this forty year, man!
Tol lol de rol, &c.

But should the Frenchmen shew their fyece,
Upon our waggon-ways, man,
Then, there upon the road, ye knaw,
We'd myek them end their days, man:
Aye, Bonaparte's sel aw'd tyek,
And thraw him i' the burning heap,
And wi' greet speed aw'd roast him deed;
His marrows, then, aw wad nae heed,
We'd pick out a' their e'en, man.
Tol lol de rol, &c.

Says Willy Dunn to loyal Tom,
Your words are all a joke, man;
For Geordy winna hae your help,
Ye're sic kamstarie folk, man:
Then Willy, lad, we'll rest in peace,
In hopes that a' the wars may cease;
But awse gi'e ye Wull, to understand,
As lang as aw can wield me hand,
There's nyen but George shall reign, man.
Tol lol de rol, &c.

Enough of this hes sure been said,
Cry'd cowardly Willy Dunn, man;
For should the Frenchmen come this way,
We'd be ready for to run, man.
Gad smash you, for a fuil! says Tom,
For if aw could not use me gun,
Aw'd tyek me pick, aw'd hew them doon,
And run and cry, through a' the toon,
God save greet George our King, man!
Tol lol de rol, &c.

BOB CRANKY'S 'SIZE SUNDAY.

Ho'way and aw'll sing thee a tune, man,
'Bout huz seein my Lord at the toon, man:
Aw's seer aw was smart, now
Aw'll lay thee a quart, now,
Nyen them a' cut a dash like Bob Cranky!

When aw pat on maw blue coat that shines sae,
Me jacket wi' posies sae fine, sae,
Maw sark sic sma' threed, man,
Maw pig-tail sae greet, man!
Od smash! what a buck was Bob Cranky!

Blue stockings, white clocks, and reed garters,
Yellow breeks, and me shoon wi' lang quarters,
Aw myed wor bairns cry,
Eh! sarties! ni! ni!
Sic varry fine things had Bob Cranky.

Aw went to au'd Tom's and fand Nancy;
Kiv aw, Lass, thou's myed to my fancy!
Aw like thou as weel
As a stannin pye heel,
Ho'way to thee toon wi' Bob Cranky.

As up Jenny's backside we were bangin,
Ki' Geordy, How! where are ye gannin?
Wey t' see my Lord Sizes,
But ye shanna gan aside us,
For ye're not half sae fine as Bob Cranky.

Ki' Geordy, We leeve i' yen raw, wyet,
I' yen corf we byeth gan belaw, wyet,
At a' things aw've play'd,
And to hew, aw'm not flaid,
Wi' sic in a chep as Bob Cranky.

Bob hez thee at lowpin and flingin,
At the bool, foot-ball, clubby, and swingin:
Can ye jump up and shuffle,
And cross owre the buckle,
When ye dance, like the cliver Bob Cranky.

Thou knaws i' my hoggers and drawers,
Aw'm nyen o' your scarters and clawers:
Frae the trap door bit laddie
T' the spletter his daddie,
Nyen handles the pick like Bob Cranky.

Sae, Geordy, od smash my pit sark!
Thou'd best haud thee whisht about wark,
Or aw'll sobble thee body,
And myek thee nose bloody,
If thou sets up thee gob to Bob Cranky.

Nan laugh'd--to church we gat without 'im;
The great crowd, becrike, how aw hew'd 'em!
Smasht a keel-bully roar'd,
Clear the road! whilk's my Lord?
Half sae high as the noble Bob Cranky.

Aw lup up, and catch'd just a short gliff
O' Lord Trials, the Trumpets and Sheriff,
Wi' the little bit mannies,
Sae fine and sae canny,
Ods heft! what a seet for Bob Cranky!

Then away we set off to the yell-hoose,
Wiv a few hearty lasses an' fellows:
Aw tell'd ower the wig,
Sae curl'd and sae big;
For nyen saw't sae weel as Bob Cranky.

Aw gat drunk, fit, and kick'd up a racket,
Rove me breeks and spoil'd a' me fine jacket;
Nan cry'd and she cuddled,
Maw hinny thou's fuddled,
Ho'way hyem, now me bonny Bob Cranky!

So we stagger'd alang frae the toon, mun,
Whiles gannin, whiles byeth fairly down, mun;
Smash, a banksman or hewer,
No, not a fine viewer,
Durst jaw to the noble Bob Cranky.

What care aw for maw new suit, i' tatters,
Twee blaek een--od smash a' sic matters!
When me Lord comes agyen, mun,
Aw'll strive, ev'ry byen, mun,
To bang a' wor consarn, ki Bob Cranky.

O' the flesh an' breed day, when wor bun, mun,
Aw'll buy claes far bonnier thau thou, mun;
For, od smash my nyavel!
As lang as wor yebble,
Let's keep up the day! ki Bob Cranky.

BOB CRANKY'S LEUM'NATION NEET.

Lord 'Sizes leuks weel in coach shinin',
Whese wig wad let Nan's heed an' mine in;
But a bonnier seet,
Was the Leum'nation neet--
It dazzled the een o' Bob Cranky.

Aboot seven aw gov ower warkin,
Gat beard off, and put a white sark on;
For Newcasslers, thowt aw,
Giff they dinna see me braw,
Will say 'What a gowk is Bob Cranky!'

A ran to the toon without stoppin',
An' fand ilka street like a hoppin;
An' the folks stood sae thick,
Aw sair wish'd for maw pick,
To hew oot a way for Bob Cranky.

The guns then went off frae the Cassel,
Seun windors wur a' in a dazzle;
Ilka place was like day,
Aw then shouted, 'Hurray!
There's plenty an' peace for Bob Cranky!'

Sum windors had pictures sae bonny!
Wi' sma' lamps aw can't tell how mony;
Te count them, aw'm sure,
Wad bother the Viewer--
A greater Goggriffer than Cranky.

Aw see'd croons myed o' lamps blue an' reed,
Whilk aw wad na like to put on my heed!
'G. P. R.' aw see'd next,
For wor Geordy Prince Rex:--
Nyen spelt it sae weel as Bob Cranky.

Sum had anchors of leet high hung up,
To shew folk greet Bonny was deun up;
But, far as aw see, man,
As reet it wad be, man,
To leet up the pick o' Bob Cranky.

A leg of meat sed, 'Doon aw's cummin!'
But sum chep aw suen fand was hummin;
For aw stopp'd bit belaw,
Haudin oot a lang paw,
But mutton cam ne nearer Cranky.

A cask on the Vicar's pump top, man,
Markt 'Plenty an' Peace,' gard me stop, man:
Thinks aw te mesel,
Aw's here get sum yell,
But only cau'd waiter gat Cranky.

Bonny, shav'd biv a bear, was then shot, man;
And biv Auld Nick weel thump'd in a pot, man;
But aw thowt a' the toon
Shuddent lick him when doon,
Tho' he'd a greet spite to Bob Cranky.

Yen Price had the cream o' the bowl, man,
Wi' goold lamps clagg'd close cheek by jowl, man:
It was sick a fine seet,
Aw could glower'd a' neet,
Had fu' been the wame o' Bob Cranky.

Ne mair seed aw till signal gun fired,
Out went the leets, an' hyem aw gat, tired:
Nan ax'd 'bout Leum'nations,
Aw bad her hae patience,
An' first fetch sum flesh to Bob Cranky.

Aw tell'd her what news aw had heerd, man,
That shuggar was sixpence a pund, man;
An' good beef at a groat:--
Then wor Nan clear'd her throat,
An' shooted oot, 'Plenty for Cranky!'

'Twas a' lees--for when Nan gang'd te toon,
An' for yen pund a sixpence pat doon;
Frae shop she was winnin',
When Grosser, deuce bin him!
Teuk a' the cheap shuggar frae Cranky.

But gif _Peace_ brings another gran' neet,
Aw think folk shou'd hae _Plenty_ te eat:
_Singin' hinnies_, aw'm shoor,
An' strang yell at the door,
Wad better nor candles please Cranky.

Then agyen, what a shem an' a sin!
Te the Pitt dinner nyen ax'd me in:
Yet aw work like a Turk,
Byeth wi' pick, knife, an' fork--
An' whe's mair a _Pittite_ nor Cranky.

Or what could ye a' dee without me,
When cau'd ice and snaw com aboot ye?
Then sair ye wad shiver,
For a' ye're sae cliver,
An' lang for the pick o' Bob Cranky!

THE PITMAN'S SKELLYSCOPE.

Oh! Tommy, lad, howay! aw's myek thou full o' play;
Aw'm sartin that thou'll byeth skip and lowpy-O:
Aw've sic a bonny thing, an' it's myed o' glass an' tin,
An' they say it's nyem's a bonny Gleediscowpy-O.
Skellyscowpy-O, &c.

A gawn alang the Close, a bit laddy cock'd his nose,
An' was keekin throud' aside the Jabel Growpey-O:
Aw fand that he wad sell'd; sae, odsmash! aw'm proud te tell'd!
For twee shillin' bowt his bonny Gleediscowpey-O.

Wey, then aw ran off hyem--Nan thowt me myekin gyem;
Said, my Deavy[1] for a new aw'd had a cowpey-O:
But she gurn'd, aye, like a sweeper, when aw held it tiv her peeper,
See'd church-windors through my bonny Gleediscowpey-O.

Then the bairns they ran like sheep, a' strove to hev a peep,
Frae the audest lass, aye doon to the dowpey-O:
There Dick dang ower Cud, myed his nose gush out o' blood,
As he ran to see the bonny Gleediscowpey-O.

There was dwiney little Peg, not sae nimmel i' the leg,
Ower the three-footed stuil gat sic a cowpey-O;
And Sandy wiv his beak, myed a lump i' mother's cheek,
Climbin up to see the bonny Gleediscowpey-O.

But she held it tiv her e'e, aye, till she could hardly see,
Oh! then aboot the markettin she thowty-O:
Wey, Lukey, man! says she, 'stead o' shuggar, flesh, an' tea,
Thou's fetch'd us hyem thy bonny Gleediscowpey-O.

She struck me wi' surprise while she skelly'd wiv her eyes,
And aw spak as if aw'd gettin a bit rowpey-O.
So, neighbours, tyek a hint, if ye peep ower lang ye'll squint,
For aw think they're reetly nyem'd a Gleediscowpey-O.

Footnote 1: A term for the Safety Lamp.

THE BONNY KEEL LADDIE.

Maw bonny keel laddie, maw canny keel laddie,
Maw bonny keel laddie for me, O!
He sits in his keel, as black as the Deil,
And he brings the white money to me, O.

Ha' ye seen owt o' maw canny man,
An' are ye sure he's weel, O?
He's gyen ower land, wiv a stick in his hand,
To help to moor the keel, O.

The canny keel laddie, the bonny keel laddie,
The canny keel laddie for me, O;
He sits in his huddock, and claws his bare buddock,
And brings the white money to me, O.

MAW CANNY HINNY.

Where hest te been, maw canny hinny?
An' where hest te been, maw bonny bairn?
Aw was up an' doon seeking for maw hinny,
Aw was through the toon seekin for maw bairn:
Aw went up the Butcher Bank and doon Grundin Chare,
Caw'd at the Dun Cow, but aw cuddent find thee there.

Where hest te been, maw canny hinny?
An' where hest te been, maw bonny bairn, &c.

Then aw went t' th' Cassel-garth and caw'd on Johnny Fife.
The beer drawer tell'd me she ne'er saw thee in her life.
Where hest te been, &c.

Then aw went into the Three Bulls' Heads, and down the Lang Stairs,
And a' the way alang the Close, as far as Mr. Mayor's.
Where hest te been, &c.

Fra there aw went alang the Brig, and up to Jackson's Chare,
Then back agyen to the Cross Keys, but cuddent find thee there.
Where hest te been, &c.

Then comin out o' Pipergate, aw met wi' Willy Rigg,
Whe tell'd me that he saw the stannen p----n on the Brig
Where hest te been, &c.

Cummin alang the Brig agyen, aw met wi' Cristy Gee,
He tell'd me that he saw thee gannin down Humes's Entery.
Where hest te been, &c.

Where hev aw been! aw seun can tell ye that;
Cummin up the Kee, aw met wi' Peter Pratt;
Meetin Peter Pratt, we met wi' Tommy Wear,
And went to Humes's t' get a gill o' beer.

There's where aw've been, maw canny hinny,
There's where aw've been, maw bonny lamb!
Wast tu up an' down, seekin for thee hinny?
Wast tu up an' down, seekin for thee lamb?

Then aw met yur Ben, and we were like to fight,
And when we cam to Sandgate it was pick night;
Crossin the road, aw met wi' Bobby Swinny.--
Hing on the girdle, let's hev a singin hinny.

A' me sorrow's ower now aw've fund maw hinny;
A' me sorrow's ower now aw've fund maw bairn;
Lang may aw shoot, Maw canny hinny!
Lang may aw shoot, Maw bonny bairn!

BOB CRANKY'S ACCOUNT

_Of the Ascent of Mr. Sadler's Balloon, from Newcastle, Sept. 1, 1815._

Ho'way, a' me marrows, big, little, and drest,
The first of a' seets may be seen;
It's the Balloon, man, see greet! aye, faiks! it's ne jest,
Tho' it seems, a' the warld, like a dream.
Aw read iv the papers, by gocks! aw remember,
It's to flee without wings i' the air,
On this varry Friday, the furst of September,
Be it cloudy, wet weather, or fair.

And a man, mun, there means, in this varry Balloon,
Above, 'mang the stars to fly,
And to haud a converse wi' the man i' the moon,
And cockwebs to soop frae the sky.
So we started frae hyem by eight i' the morn,
Byeth faither and mother and son,
But fand a' wor neighbours had started before,
To get in good time for the fun.

The lanes were a' crouded, some riding, some walking,
Aw ne'er see'd the like iv my life;
'Twas bedlam broke oot, aw thowt by their talking,
Every bairn, lad, lass, and the wife.
The folks at the winders a' jeer'd as we past,
An' thowt' a' wor numbers surprisin;
They star'd and they glower'd, and axed in jest,
Are all of ye pitmen a rising?

Aw fand, at the toon, te, the shops a' shut up,
And the streets wi' folks were sae flocken;
The walls wi' Balloon papers sae closely clagg'd up,
Be cavers! it luckt like a hoppen.
A fellow was turnin it a' into a joke,
Another was a' the folks hummin,
While a third said, it was a bag full o' smoke,
That ower wor heeds was a cummin.

To the furst o' these cheps, says aw, Nyen o' yur fun,
Or aw'll lay thee at length on the styens,
Or thy teeth aw'll beat oot, as sure as a gun,
And mevies aw'll chowk ye wi' byens.
To the beak o' the second aw held up me fist,
D--mn! aw'll bray ye as black as a craw,
Aw'll knock oot yur e'e, if aw don't aw'll be kist,
An' mump a' the slack o' yur jaw.

Aw pat them to reets, an' onward aw steer'd,
An' wonder'd the folks aw had see'd,
But a' was palaver that ever aw heurd,
So aw walk'd on as other folk did.
At last aw gat up on the top o' sum sheds,
Biv the help of an au'd crazy lether;
An' ower the tops o' ten thousand folks' heads,
Aw suen gat a gliff o' the blether.

D--mn, a blether aw call it! by gocks, aw am reet,
For o' silk dipt iv leadeater melted
It's myed of, an' Lord! what a wonderful seet,
When the gun tell'd that it was _filated_.
'Twas just like the boiler at wor Bella Pit,
O'er which were a great cabbage net,
Which fasten'd, by a parcel of strings sae fit,
A corf for the mannie to sit.

As aw sat at me ease aw cud hear a' the folk
Gie their notions about the Balloon;
Aw thowt aw shud brust when aw heurd their strange talk,
Aboot the man's gaun to the moon.
Says yen, iv a whisper, Aw think aw hev heurd
He is carryin a letter to Bonny,
That's ower the sea to flee like a burd;
The thowt, by my jinkers! was funny.

A chep wiv a fyece like a poor country bumpkin,
Sed he heurd, but may hap tisent true,
That the thing whilk they saw was a great silken pumpkin
By me eye, what a lilly-ba-loo!
Another said, Sadler (for that is the nyem
O' the man) may pay dear for his frolic,
When he's up iv the clouds (a stree for his fame!)
His guts may have twangs of the cholic.

The man a' this time the great blether was filling,
Wiv stuff that wad myed a dog sick,
It smelt just as though they were garvage distilling,
Till at length it was full as a tick.
They next strain'd the ropes to keep the thing steady,
Put colley and drams iv the boat;
Then crack went the cannon, to say it was ready,
An' aw see'd the blether afloat.

Not a word was there heurd, a' eyes were a starin,
For the off ganen moment was near:
To see sic a crowd se whisht was amazen,
Aw thowt aw fand palish and queer.
After waitin a wee, aw see'd him come to,
Shaken hands, as aw thowt, wiv his friend;
Of his mountin the corf aw had a full view,
As he sat his ways down at the end.

The ropes were then cut, and upwards he went,
A wavin his flag i' the air;
Ev'ry heed was turn'd up, and a' eye's wur intent
On this comical new flying chair:
It went it's ways up like a lavrick sae hee,
Till it luckt 'bout the size of a skyate;
When in tiv a cloud it was lost t' the e'e,
Aw wisht the man better i' fate.

BOB CRANKY'S ADIEU.

Fareweel, fareweel, maw comely pet!
Aw's forc'd three weeks to leave thee;
Aw's doon for _par'ment duty_ set,
O dinna let it grieve thee!
Maw hinny! wipe them een, sae breet,
That mine wi' love did dazzle;
When tha' heart's sad can mine be leet?
Come, ho'way get a gill o' beer,
Thee heart te cheer:
An' when thou sees me mairch away,
Whiles in, whiles oot
O' step, nae doot,
'Bob Cranky's gane,' thou'lt sobbing say,
'A sowgering to Newcassel!'

Come, dinna, dinna whinge an' whipe,
Like yammering Isbel Macky;
Cheer up, maw hinny! leet thee pipe,
An' tyek a blast o' backy!
It's but for yen an' twenty days,
The folks's een aw'll dazzle.--
Prood, swagg'ring i' maw fine reed claes:
Ods heft! maw pit claes--dis thou hear?
Are warse o' wear;
Mind cloot them weel, when aw's away;
An' a posie goon
Aw'll buy thee soon,
An' thou's drink thy tea--aye, twice a-day,
When aw cum frae Newcassel.

Becrike! aw's up tiv every rig,
Sae dinna doot, maw hinny!
But at the _blue styen_ o' the Brig
Aw'll hae maw mairchin ginny.
A guinea! wuks! sae strange a seet
Maw een wi' joy wad dazzle;
But aw'll hed spent that varry neet
For money, hinny! ower neet to keep,
Wad brick maw sleep:
Sae, smash! aw think't a wiser way,
Wi' flesh an' beer
Mesel to cheer,
The lang three weeks that aw've to stay
A sowgering at Newcassel.

But whisht! the Sairjeant's tongue aw hear,
'Fa' in! fa' in!' he's yelpin:
The fifes are whusslin loud and clear,
And sair the drums they're skelpin.
Fareweel, maw comely! aw mun gang
The Gen'ral's een to dazzle!
But, hinny! if the time seems lang,
An' thou freets about me neet and day;
Then come away,
Seek out the yell-house where aw stay,
An' we'll kiss and cuddle;
An' mony a fuddle
Sall drive the langsome hours away,
When sowgering at Newcassel.

THE MAYOR OF BOURDEAUX;

_Or, Mally's Mistake._

As Jackey sat lowsin his buttons,
And rowlin his great backey chow,
The bells o' the toon 'gan to tinkle;
Cries Mally, What's happen'd us now?
Ho! jump and fling off thy au'd neet-cap,
And slip on thy lang-quarter'd shoes,
Ere thou gets hauf way up the Key,
Ye'll meet sum that can tell ye the news.
Fol de rol, &c.

As Mally was puffin an' runnin,
A gentleman's flonkey she met;
'Canny man, ye mun tell us the news,
Or ye'll set wor au'd man i' the pet.'
The Mayor of Bourdeaux, a French noble,
Has com'd to Newcassel with speed:
To neet he sleeps sound at wor Mayor's,
And to morn he'll be at the Queen's Heed.
Fol de rol, &c.

Now Mally thank'd him wiv a curtsey,
And back tiv her Jackey did prance:
'Mary Mordox, a fine Fitter's Leydy's
Com'd ower in a coble frae France.'
'Mary Mordox, a fine Fitter's Leydy!
Ise warrant she's some frolicksome jade,
And com'd to Newcassel for fashions,
Or else to suspect the Coal Trade.'
Fol de rol, &c.

So to Peter's thou's gan i' the mornin,
Gan suin an' thou'll get a good pleyce;
If thou canna get haud of her paw,
Thou mun get a guid luick at her fyece:
And if ye can but get a word at her,
And mind now ye divent think shem,
Say, 'Please, ma'm, they ca' my wife Mary,
Wor next little bairn's be the syem.'
Fol de rol, &c.

So betimes the next mornin he travels,
And up to the Queen's Head he goes,
Where a skinny chep luik'd frev a winder,
Wi' white powther'd wig an' lang nose:
A fine butterflee coat wi' gowld buttons,
A' man! how the folks did hurro;
Aw thowt he'd fled from some toy-shop i' Lunnin,
Or else frae sum grand wax-work show.
Fol de rol, &c.

Smash! Mally, ye've tell'd a big lee,
For a man's not a woman, aw'll swear:
But he hardly had spoken these words,
Till out tumbled a cask o' strang beer:
Like a cat Jackey flang his leg ower,
Ay, like Bacchus he sat at his ease,
Tiv aw's fuddled, odsmash! ye may tauk
Yor French gabberish as lang as ye please.
Fol de rol, &c.

They crush'd sair, but Jack never minded,
Till wi' liquor he'd lowsen'd his bags;
At last a great thrust dang him ower,
He lay a' his lang length on the flags:
Iv an instant Mall seiz'd his pea jacket,
Says she, is thou drunk, or thou's lyem?
The Mayors o' wor box! smash, aw'm fuddled!
O Mally, wilt thou lead me hyem.
Fol de rol, &c.

SWALWELL HOPPING.

Lads! myek a ring,
An' hear huz sing
The sport we had at Swalwell, O;
Wor merry play.
O' the Hoppen day,
Ho'way, marrows! an' aw'll tell ye, O.
The sun shines warm on Whickham bank,
Let's a' lie doon at Dolly's, O;
An' hear 'bout mony a funny prank,
Play'd by the lads at Crowley's, O.

There was Sam, O zoons!
Wiv's pantaloons,
An' gravat up ower his gobby, O;
An' Willy, thou,
Wi' the jacket blue,
Thou was the varry Bobby, O:
There was knack knee'd Mat, wiv's purple suit,
An' hopper-a-s'd Dick, a' yellow, O:
Great Tom was there, wi' H----ple's au'd coat,
An' buck-sheen'd Bob frae Stella, O.

When we wor drest,
It was confest
We shem'd the cheps frae Newcassel, O:
So away we set
To wor toon gyet,
To jeer them a' as they pass'd us, O:
We shouted some, and some dung down;
Lobstrop'lus fellows, we kick'd them, O:
Some culls went hyem, some crush'd to toon,
Some gat aboot by Whickham, O.

The spree com on--
The hat was won
By carrot-pow'd Jenny's Jackey, O:
What a fyace, begok!
Had muckle-mouth'd Jock,
When he twin'd his jaws for the backy, O!
The kilted lasses fell tid, pell mell,
Wi' 'Talli-i-o the grinder,' O--
The smock was gi'en to slavering Nell,
Ye'd dropp'd had ye been behind her, O.

Wor dance began
Wi' buck-tyuth'd Nan,
An' Geordy, thou'd Jen Collin, O;
While the merry Black,
Wi' mony a crack,
Set the tamboureen a rolling, O.
Like wor forge-hammer we bet sae true,
An' shuk Raw's house sae soundly, O:
Tuff canna cum up wi' Crowley's Crew,
Nor thump the tune sae roundly, O.

Then Gyetside Jack,
Wiv's bloody back,
Wad dance wi' goggle-eye'd Mally, O:
But up cam Nick
An' gav him a kick,
And a canny bit kind of a fally, O:
That day a' Hawks's Blacks may rue,--
They gat mony a varry sair clanker, O:
Can they de owse wi' Crowley's Crew,
Frev a needle tiv an anchor, O?

What's that to say
To the bonny fray
We had wi' skipper Robin, O?
The keel bullies a',
Byeth greet an' sma',
Myed a b----rly tide o' the hoppen, O.
Gleed Will cried, _Ma-a_! up lup au'd Frank,
An' Robin, that marry'd his dowter, O:
We hammer'd their ribs like an anchor shank;
They fand it six weeks efter, O.

Bald pyat Jone Carr
Wad hev a bit spar,
To help his marrows away wid, O;
But poor au'd fellow,
He'd getten ower mellow,
So we doon'd byth him and Davy, O:
Then Petticoat Robin jump'd up agyen,
Wiv's gully to marcykree huz a'
But Willanton Dan laid him flat wiv a styen:
Hurrah! for Crowley's Crew, boys, a'!

Their hash was sattled,
So off they rattled,
An' we jigg'd it up sae hearty, O.
Wi' mony a shiver,
An' lowp sae cliver,
Can Newcassel turn out sic a party, O?
When, wheit dyun ower, the fiddlers went,
We stagger'd a hint sae merry, O;
An thro' wor toon, till fairly spent,
Roar'd--Crowley's Crew an' glory, O!

WINLATON HOPPING.

Ye sons of glee come join with me,
Ye who love mirth and toping, O,
You'll ne'er refuse to hear my muse
Sing of Winlaton fam'd Hopping, O,
To Tenche's Hotel let's retire,
To tipple away so neatly, O:
The fiddle and song you'll sure admire,
Together they sound so sweetly, O.
Tal lal la, &c.

With box and die you'll Sammy spy,
Of late Sword-dancers' Bessy, O--
All patch'd and torn with tail and horn,
Just like a De'il in dressy, O:
But late discharg'd from that employ,
This scheme popp'd in his noddle, O;
Which fill'd his little heart with joy,
And pleas'd blithe Sammy Doddle, O.

Close by the stocks, his dies and box
He rattled away so rarely, O;
Both youth and age did he engage,
Together they play'd so cheerly, O:
While just close by the sticks did fly
At spice on knobs of woody, O:
'How! mind my legs!' the youngsters cry,
'Wey, man, thou's drawn the bloody!' O.

Rang'd in a row, a glorious show
Of spice, and nuts for cracking, O;
With handsome toys for girls and boys,
Grac'd Winlaton fam'd Hopping, O.
Each to the stalls led his dear lass,
And treat her there so sweetly, O;
Then straight retire to drink a glass,
An' shuffle an' cut so neatly, O.

Ye men so wise who knowledge prize,
Let not this scene confound ye, O;
At Winship's door might ye explore
The world a' running round ye, O:
Blithe boys and girls on horse and chair,
Flew round without e'er stopping, O;
Sure Blaydon Races can't compare
With Winlaton fam'd Hopping, O.

The night came on, with dance and song,
Each public-house did jingle, O;
All ranks did swear to banish Care,
The married and the single, O:
They tript away till morning light,
Then slept sound without rocking, O;
Next day got drunk in merry plight,
And jaw'd about the Hopping, O.

At last dull Care his crest did rear,
Our heads he sore did riddle, O;
Till Peacock drew his pipes and blew,
And Tenche he tun'd his fiddle, O;
Then Painter Jack he led the van,
The drum did join in chorus, O,--
The old and young then danc'd and sung,
Dull Care fled far before us, O.

No courtier fine, nor grave divine,
That's got the whole he wishes, O,
Will ever be so blithe as we,
With all their loaves and fishes, O:
Then grant, O Jove! our ardent prayer,
And happy still you'll find us, O;--
Let pining Want and haggard Care,
A day's march keep behind us, O.

THE SANDGATE GIRL'S LAMENTATION.

I was a young maiden truly,
And lived in Sandgate-street;
I thought to marry a good man,
To keep me warm at neet.
Some good-like body, some bonny body,
To be with me at noon;
But last I married a keelman,
And my good days are done.

I thought to marry a parson,
To hear me say my prayers;
But I have married a keelman,
And he kicks me down the stairs.
He's an ugly body, a bubbly body,
An ill-far'd ugly loon;
And I have married a keelman,
And my good days are done.

I thought to marry a dyer,
To dye my apron blue;
And I have married a keelman,
And he makes me sorely rue.
He's an ugly body, a bubbly body,
An ill-far'd ugly loon;
And I have married a keelman,
And my good days are done.

I thought to marry a joiner,
To make me chair and stool;
But I have married a keelman,
And he's a perfect fool.
He's an ugly body, a bubbly body,
An ill-far'd ugly loon;
And I have married a keelman,
And my good days are done.

I thought to marry a sailor,
To bring me sugar and tea;
But I have married a keelman,
And that he lets me see.
He's an ugly body, a bubbly body,
An ill-far'd ugly loon;
And I have married a keelman,
And my good days are done.

THE COLLIER'S RANT.

As me and my marrow was gannin to wark,
We met wi' the De'il, it was in the dark;
I up wi' my pick, it being in the neet,
And knock'd off his horns, likewise his club feet.

Follow the horses, Johnny, my lad, oh!
Follow them through, my canny lad, oh!
Follow the horses, Johnny, my lad, oh!
Oh, lad, lie away, canny lad, oh!

As me and my marrow was putting the tram,
The lowe it went oot, and my marrow went wrang;
You would have laugh'd had you seen the gam,
The de'il gat my marrow, but I gat the tram.
Follow the horses, &c.

Oh, marrow! oh, marrow! what dost thou think?
I've broken my bottle and spilt a' my drink;
I've lost a' my shin-splints amang the greet stanes,
Draw me to the shaft, it's time to gan hame.
Follow the horses, &c.

Oh, marrow! oh, marrow! where hest thou been?
Driving the drift frae the low seam,
Driving the drift frae the low seam:
Haud up the lowe, lad! de'il stop oot thy een!
Follow the horse, &c.

Oh, marrow! oh, marrow! this is wor pay week,
We'll get penny loaves, and drink to our beek;
And we'll fill up our bumper, and round it shall go,
Follow the horses, Johnny lad, oh!
Follow the horses, &c.

There is me horse, and there is me tram;
Twee horns full of greese will myek her to gan;
There is me hoggers, likewise me half shoon,
And smash me heart! marrow, me putting's a' done!
Follow the horses, &c.

WEEL MAY THE KEEL ROW.

As I cam thro' Sandgate, thro' Sandgate, thro' Sandgate,
As I cam thro' Sandgate, I heard a lassie sing,
Weel may the keel row, the keel row, the keel row,
Weel may the keel row, that my laddie's in.

He wears a blue bonnet, blue bonnet, blue bonnet,
He wears a blue bonnet, a dimple in his chin:
And weel may the keel row, the keel row, the keel row,
And weel may the keel row that my laddie's in.

THE NEW KEEL ROW.

Whe's like my Johnny,
Sae leish, sae blithe, sae bonny?
He's foremost 'mang the mony
Keel lads o' Coaly Tyne;
He'll set or row sae tightly,
Or in the dance sae sprightly,
He'll cut and shuffle sightly:
'Tis true--were he not mine.

Weel may the keel row,
The keel row, the keel row,
Weel may the keel row,
That my laddie's in:
He wears a blue bonnet,
A bonnet, a bonnet,
He wears a blue bonnet,
A dimple in his chin.

He's nae mair o' learning,
Than tells his weekly earning,
Yet reet frae wrang discerning,
Tho' brave, nae bruiser he:
Tho' he no worth a plack is,
His awn coat on his back is,
And nyen can say that black is
The white o' Johnny's e'e.
Weel may the keel row, &c.

He takes his quairt right dearly,
Each comin' pay-day, nearly,
Then talks O, latin O--cheerly,
Or mavies jaws away;
How caring not a feather,
Nelson and he together,
The springey French did lether.
And gar'd them shab away.
Weel may the keel row, &c.

We're a' kings comparely,
In each I'd spy a fairly,
An' ay wad Johnny barly,
He gets sic bonny bairns:
Go bon, the queen, or misses,
But wad, for Johnny's kisses,
Luik upon as blisses,
Scrimp meals, caff beds, and dairns.
Weel may the keel row, &c.

Wor lads, like their deddy,
To fight the French are ready;
But gie's a peace that's steady,
And breed cheep as langsyne;
May a' the press-gang perish,
Each lass her laddie cherish:
Lang may the Coal Trade flourish
Upon the dingy Tyne.
Weel may the keel row, &c.

Breet Star o' Heaton,
You're ay wor darling sweet on';
May heaven's blessings leet on
Your lyedy, bairns, and ye!
God bless the King and Nation!
Each bravely fill his station:
Our canny _Corporation_,
Lang may they sing, wi' me,
Weel may the keel row, &c.

THE SANDHILL MONKEY.

A story aw's gaun for to tell,
An' t' ye it may luik varry strange,
It was in a shop on the Sandhill,
When the Craw's Nest was on the Exchange.
A monkey was each day drest soon,
Ahint the coonter he sat i' the shop,
Whe cam in an' their money laid doon,
Jaco straight in the till would it pop.
Rum ti iddity, &c.

A Skipper he cam in yen day,
He coudent help luiking at Jackey,
On the coonter his money did lay,
Saying, 'Please, sir, an ounce of rag backey!'
His money Jack popt in the till,
The Skipper kept luiking at him,
A' the time on his seat he sat still,
And' he luik'd at the Skipper quite grim.
Rum ti iddity, &c.

'Now pray, sir, will ye bear a hand?
For aw maun be at Sheels now this tide--
Now pray be as sharp as ye can,
For wor keel she is at the Keyside;--
Au'd man, are ye deef?' then he cried,
An' intiv a passion he fell,
On the counter lay some ready weigh'd,
Says he, 'Smash! but aw'll help mysel!'
Rum ti iddity, &c.

'Then he tuik up an ounce o' rag backey,
But afore he cud get turn'd about,
Off his seat then upstarted au'd Jackey,
An' catch'd him hard fast by the snout;
He roar'd and he shouted out 'Murder!'
The Maister he see'd a' the fun,
Not wishing the joke to gan farther,
Straight intiv the shop then he run.
Rum ti iddity, &c.

'What's the matter, my canny good man?'
An' he scarcely could keep in the laugh;
'Take this au'd man off me--bear a hand!
For aw think now that's mater aneuf:--
What's the mater, ye ax?--Smash! that's funny!'
(An' he still kept his eye upon Jackey)
'Aw paid yor grandfayther the money,
But he'll not let me hae me backey.
Rum ti iddity, &c.

'Now mind ye, maw canny good man,
If ever thou cums in wor keel,
For the trick thou hes play'd me the day,
Wor Pee Dee shall sobble ye weel;
Eh, for a' yor fine claes I'll engage,
An' for a' ye're a sturdy au'd man,
Tho' he's nobbut twelve years of age,
He shall thresh ye till ye canna gan.
Rum ti iddity, &c.

THE SKIPPER'S DREAM.

T'other day ye mun knaw, wey aw'd had a sup beer;
It ran i' maw heed, and myed me sae queer,
That aw lay doon to sleep i' wor huddock sae snug,
An' dreem'd sic a dreem as gar'd me scart me lug.

Aw dreem'd that the queerest man iver aw see'd,
Cam stumping alang wi' three hats on his heed;
A goon on like a preest, (mind aw's telling ne lees)
An' at his side there was hangin a greet bunch o' kees.

He stares i' maw fyece, and says, 'How d'ye de?'
'Aw's teufish,' says aw, 'canny man, how are ye?'
Then he says, wiv a voice gar'd me trimmle, aw's shure,
'Aw's varry weel, thank ye, but yor day is nigh ower.'

Aw studdies awhile, then says aw, 'Are ye Deeth,
Come here for to wise oot a poor fellow's breeth?'
He says, 'No, aw'm the Pope, cum to try if aw can
Save a vile wretch like ye, fra the nasty Bad Man.'

He said, yen St. Peter gov him them great keys
To let into Hiven wheiver he'd please;
An' if aw'd turn Papish, and giv him a Note,
He'd send me to Hiven, without ony doot.

Then a yel heep o' stuff he talk'd aboot sin,
An' sed he'd forgi' me whativer aw'd deun;
An' if that aw'd murther'd byeth fayther and muther,
For a five shillin peece, wey, aw might kill me bruther.

Says aw, 'Mister Pope, gi's ne mair o' yur tauk,
But oot o' wor huddock aw's beg ye to wauk;
An' if ye divent get oot before aw count _Nine_,
Byeth ye and yor keys, man, aw'll fling i' the Tyne.'

So aw on tiv me feet wiv a bit iv a skip,
For aw ment for to give him an Orangeman's grip;
But aw waken'd just then in a terrible stew,
An' fand it a dreem as aw've teld ye just now.

THE SKIPPER'S ACCOUNT OF THE ORANGEMEN'S PROCESSION.

Wor keel it lay dry on a sand near the Key,
An' it happen'd as how that aw had nowt te de;
The bells began ringin just when it struck Ten,
An' they sed that it was for the Loyal Orangemen.
Derry down, &c.

Aw on t' the Key iv a deuce iv a hurry,
An' brak byeth me shins cummin ower a whurry;
But aw haddent time to mind them tho' they smarted sare,
For the _Purcession_ was just comin oot iv a chare.
Derry down, &c.

Aw thowt that aw'd seen bonny seets i' my time,
'Mang wor lads that are reckon'd the pride o' the Tyne;
When they get theirsels drest i' wor heed-meetin day,
Wiv a band o' musicianors afore them to play.
Derry down, &c.

But the forst seet aw see'd put maw pipe oot, aw's shure,
'Twas a canny au'd mannie that mairch'd on afore;
Wiv a sword iv his hand, a cock'd hat on his heed,
An' the bonniest new claes on that ever aw see'd.
Derry down, &c.

There was colours, and candles, and gilt things galore,
An' things that aw ne'er see'd the like on afore;
An' sum douce-leukin cheps that war aw dress'd i' black,
But they every yen had a cow's horn on his back.
Derry down, &c.

The fine things they com on se thick and se fast,
That aw cuddent tell what was forst or what last;
An' aw see'd a queer man that the folks call'd a preest,
An' four cheps swettin under a greet goolden kist.
Derry down, &c.

Aw laugh'd, an' aw gurn'd, an' aw gov a greet shoot,
An' aw dang a' the bairns an' the au'd wives aboot;
But maw booels were put in a dismal confloption,
When aw see'd sum cheps cum wiv a bairn's bonny coffin.
Derry down, &c.

Aw was in sad consarnment, as ye may be shure,
For a barryin like this, wey aw ne'er see'd afore;
For the morners war drest up wiv sashes an' ribbins,
An' the band play'd as thof they war gaun tiv a weddin.
Derry down, &c.

Aw says tiv a man, says aw, 'Sor, if ye please,
Can ye tell us whe's deed?' an' he civilly says,
'Whe's deed aw divent knaw, but as far as aw reckin,
It's the De'il or yen Pop that they hev i' thon coffin.'
Derry down, &c.

Aw met wor Pee Dee when aw gat tiv the jail,
He says, 'Let's intiv the chorch, can ye clim o'er the rail?
For there's lasses wi' fine Orange ribbins gaen in,
An' that hatchet-fyec'd wife says they're gannin te sing.
Derry down, &c.

Aw says te the lad. 'Aw's be in iv a crack!'
But a cunstibbel says, 'Man! yor fyece is se black,
That if ye gan in--it's the truth aw declare,
Ye'll be taen for Au'd Nick, and they'll barry ye there.
Derry down, &c.

So aw see'd ne mair, but aw hard the folks say,
That they'd cum agyen on sum other day;
So aw said tiv wor lad, 'Wey we've seen a grand seet,
An' we'll drink aw their hilths agyen Setterday neet.'
Derry down, &c.

THE POLITICIANS.

Last Setterday, as we were gannin
Frae Newcassel, Dick Martin and I,
We caw'd at the sign o' the Cannon,
Because we byeth turn'd varry dry.
They were tauking o' reedin the papers,
'Bout Cobbett and his politics,
How fine he exposes the capers
Of Government's comical tricks.

He tauks o' the millions expenses
Browt on us by gannin te war:
But he maun be a man o' greet senses,
Or he cuddent hae reckon'd sae far.
He tauks o' the National Debt,
O' sinequeers, pensions, and such;
Wey, aw think how wor Mally wad fret,
If she'd awn just quarter as much.

Mister Government mun hae greet credit,
Or he ne'er wad get intiv debt;
But they tell yen he hez sike a spirit,
Aw's fish that comes intiv his net,
Says Dick, If aw wanted a shillin,
Want, then, yor certain aw must;
For, if yen was ever sae willin,
Ye divent ken where to seek trust.

We expected that when it cam Peace,
Wor sowgers and sailors reduc'd,
Wor burdens they quickly wad cease,
But, smash! man, we've been sair seduc'd.
Says Dicky, The taxes this year,
Myeks yen cry, iv a rage, Devil hang them!
For the backey an' yell they're sae dear--
Wey, it's just a cologuin amang them.

Good folks! aw wad hev ye beware
Of some that in Parliament sit;
For they're not hauf sae good as they waur,
Sin' that taistrel they caw'd Billy Pitt.
If ye 'loo them te de as they please,
Believe me a'm shure, aye, an' sartin,
They'll bring us syef doon te wor knees!
So ended byeth Dick and Jack Martin.

TILL THE TIDE CAME IN.

While strolling down sweet Sandgate-street,
A man o' war's blade I chanc'd to meet;
To the sign of the Ship I haul'd him in,
To drink a good glass till the tide came in.
Till the tide came in, &c.

I took in tow young Squinting Meg,
Who well in the dance could shake her leg;
My friend haul'd Oyster Mally in,
And we jigg'd them about till the tide came in.
Till the tide came in, &c.

We bows'd away till the break of day,
Then ask'd what shot we had to pay?
You've drank, said the host, nine pints of gin;
So we paid him his due--now the tide was in.
Now the tide was in, &c.

THE SANDGATE LASSIE'S LAMENT.

They've prest my dear Johnny,
Sae sprightly and bonny--
Alack! I shall ne'er mair de weel, O;
The kidnapping squad
Laid hold of my lad
As he was unmooring the keel, O.

O my sweet laddie,
My canny keel laddie,
Sae handsome, sae canty, and free, O;
Had he staid on the Tyne,
Ere now he'd been mine,
But, oh! he's far ower the sea, O.

Should he fall by commotion,
Or sink in the ocean,
(May sic tidings ne'er come to the Kee, O!)
I could ne'er mair be glad,
For the loss of my lad
Wad break my poor heart, and I'd dee, O.
O my sweet laddie, &c.
But should my dear tar
Come safe from the war,
What heart-bounding joy wad I feel, O!
To the Church we wad flee,
And married be,
And again he should row in his keel, O.

O my sweet laddie!
My canny keel laddie!
Sae handsome, sae canty, and free, O!
Though far frae the Tyne,
I still hope he'll be mine,
And live happy as onie can be, O.

HYDROPHOBIE, OR THE SKIPPER & QUAKER.

As Skipper Carr and Markie Dunn,
Were gannin, drunk, through Sandgate--
A dog bit Mark and off did run,
But sair the poor sowl fand it;
The Skipper in a voice se rough--
Aw warn'd, says he, its mad eneugh--
Howay and get some doctor's stuff,
For fear of Hydrophobie!
Fal de ral, &c.

The doctor dress'd the wound se wide,
And left poor Markie smartin--
Then, for a joke, tells Carr, aside,
Mark wad gan mad for sartin:--
Noo, Skipper, mind, when in yor keel,
Be sure that ye watch Markie weel,
If he begins to bark and squeel,
Depend it's Hydrophobie!
Fal de ral, &c.

For Shields, next day, they sail'd wi' coal,
And teuk on board a Quaker,
Who wish'd to go as far's Dent's Hole,
To see a friend call'd Baker:
The Skipper whisper'd in his ear--
Wor Markie will gan mad, aw fear!
He'll bite us a'--as sure's yor here,
We'll get the Hydrophobie!
Fal de ral, &c.

Said Quack--I hope this can't be true,
Nay, friend, thou art mistaken;
We must not fear what man can do--
Yea! I will stand unshaken!
The Skipper, to complete the farce,
Said, Maister Quaker, what's far warse,
A b----g dog bit Markie's a--e,
And browt on Hydrophobie!
Fal de ral, &c.

Now Markie overheard their talk,
Thinks he, aw'll try the Quaker--
Makes P. D. to the huddock walk,
Of fun to be partaker:
To howl an' bark he wasn't slack,
The Quaker ow'rboard in a crack,
With the fat Skipper on his back,
For fear of Hydrophobie!
Fal de ral, &c.

How P. D. laugh'd to see the two,
Who to be sav'd, were striving--
Mark haul'd them out wi' much ado,
And call'd them culls for diving:--
The Quaker suen was put on shore,
For he was frighten'd verry sore--
The Skipper promis'd never more
To mention Hydrophobie!
Fal de ral, &c.

THE KEELMAN AND THE GRINDSTONE.

Not lang since some keelmen were gaun doon to Sheels,
When a hoop round some froth cam alangside their keel;
The Skipper saw'd first, and he gov a greet shout,
How, b----r, man, Dick, here's a grunstan afloat,
Derry down, &c.

Dick leuk'd, and he thowt that the Skipper was reet,
So they'd hev her ashore, and then sell her that neet:
Then he jump'd on to fetch her--my eyes what a splatter!
Ne grunstan was there, for he fand it was water.
Derry down, &c.

The Skipper astonish'd, quite struck wi' surprise,
He roar'd out to Dickey when he saw him rise--
How, smash, marrow--Dick, ho!--What is thou about?
Come here, mun, and let's hae the grunstan tyen out.
Derry down, &c.

A grunstan! says Dick--wey, ye slavering cull,
Wi' water maw belly and pockets are full;
By the gowkey, aw'll sweer that ye're drunk, daft, or doating--
Its nee grunstan at a', but sum awd iron floating.
Derry down, &c.

NEWCASTLE WONDERS;

_Or, Hackney Coach Customers_.

Since the Hackneys began in Newcastle to run,
There's some tricks been play'd off which has myed lots o' fun:
For poor folks can ride now, that ne'er rode before,
The expense is se canny, its suen gettin ower.
Gee, ho, Dobbin, &c.

Mang the rest o' the jokes was a lad frae the Fell,
Where he lives wiv his feyther, his nyem's Geordy Bell;
For hewin there's nyen can touch Geordy for skill,
When he comes to Newcassel he gets a good gill.
Gee, ho, Dobbin, &c.

One day being cramm'd wi' fat flesh and strang beer,
Left some friends at the Cock, and away he did steer,
Wiv his hat on three hairs, through Wheat Market did stride,
When a Coachman cam up, and said--Sir, will ye ride?
Gee, ho, Dobbin, &c.

Wey, smash noo--whe's thou, man?--How, what dis thou mean?--
I drive the best coach, sir, that ever was seen.--
To ride iv a coach! Smash, says Geordy, aw's willin'--
Aw'll ride i' yor coach though it cost me ten shillin'!
So Gee, ho, Dobbin, &c.

Then into the coach Geordy claver'd wi' speed,
And out at the window he popp'd his greet heed:--
Pray, where shall I drive, sir--please give me the name?
Drive us a' the toon ower, man, an' then drive us hyem!
Gee, ho, Dobbin, &c.

Then up and doon street how they rattled alang,
Tiv a chep wi' the news tiv aud Geordy did bang,
'Bout his son in the coach, and for truth, did relate,
He was owther turn'd Mayor, or the great Magistrate!
Gee, ho, Dobbin, &c.

Aud Geordy did caper till myestly deun ower,
When Coachee, suen after, drove up to his door--
Young Geordy stept out, caus'd their hopes suen to stagger,
Said he'd paid for a ride just to cut a bit swagger.
Gee, ho, Dobbin, &c.

To ride frae Newcassel mun cost ye some brass:
Od smash, now, says Geordy, thou talks like an ass!
For half-a-crown piece thou may ride to the Fell--
An' for eighteen-pence mair, smash, they'll drive ye to H--ll!
Gee, ho, Dobbin, &c.

Aud Geordy then thowt there was comfort in store,
For contrivance the coaches nyen could come before:
Poor men that are tied to bad wives needn't stick--
Just tip Coachee the brass an' they're off tiv Au'd Nick.
Gee, ho, Dobbin, &c.

QUAYSIDE DITTY,

_For February_, 1816.

Ah! what's yor news the day, Mr. Mayor, Mr. Mayor?
Ah! what's yor news the day, Mr. Mayor?
The folks of Sheels, they say,
Want wor Custom House away,
And ye canna say them nay, Mr. Mayor, Mr. Mayor,
And ye canna say them nay, Mr. Mayor.

But dinna let it gan, Mr. Mayor, Mr. Mayor,
Or, ye'll ruin us tiv a man, Mr. Mayor:
They say a Branch 'ill dee,
But next they'll tyek the Tree,
And smash wor canny Kee, Mr. Mayor, Mr. Mayor.
And smash, &c.

For ah! they're greedy dogs, Mr. Mayor, Mr. Mayor,
They'd grub us up like hogs, Mr. Mayor:
If the Custom-house they touch,
They wad na scruple much
For to bolt wor very Hutch, Mr. Mayor, Mr. Mayor.
For to bolt, &c.

Before it be ower lang, Mr. Mayor, Mr. Mayor,
Then ca' up a' yor gang, Mr. Mayor:
Yor Corporation chiels,
They say they're deep as Deils,
And they hate the folk of Sheels, Mr. Mayor, Mr. Mayor,
And they hate, &c.

Ah! get wor Kee-side Sparks, Mr. Mayor, Mr. Mayor,
Wor Fitters and their Clerks, Mr. Mayor,
To help to bar this stroke--
For, faicks, they are the folk
That canna bide the joke, Mr. Mayor, Mr. Mayor.
That canna bide, &c.

And egg wor men of news, Mr. Mayor, Mr. Mayor,
Wor Mercury and Hues, Mr. Mayor,
Wi' Solomon the Wise,
Their cause to stigmatize,
And trump wors to the skies, Mr. Mayor, Mr. Mayor.
And trump wors, &c.

How wad we grieve to see, Mr. Mayor, Mr. Mayor,
The grass grow on the Kee, Mr. Mayor?
So get the weighty prayers
Of the porters in the chares,
And the wives that sell the wares, Mr. Mayor, Mr. Mayor.
And the wives, &c.

A Butcher's off frae Sheels, Mr. Mayor, Mr. Mayor,
Wi' the Deevil at his heels, Mr. Mayor:
Faicks, all the way to Lunnin,
Just like a strang tide runnin,
And ah he's deev'lish cunnin, Mr. Mayor, Mr. Mayor.
And ah he's, &c.

But Nat's as deep as he, Mr. Mayor, Mr. Mayor.
Send him to Lunnin tee, Mr. Mayor,
He has wit, we may suppose,
Frev his winkers tiv his toes,
Since the Major pull'd his nose, Mr. Mayor, Mr. Mayor.
Since the Major, &c.

And send amang the gang, Mr. Mayor, Mr. Mayor,
ARM--what d'ye ca' him--STRANG, Mr. Mayor,
Ah! send him, if ye please,
The Treasury to teaze,
He'll tell them heaps o' lees, Mr. Mayor, Mr. Mayor.
He'll tell them, &c.

If the Sheels folk get the day, Mr. Mayor, Mr. Mayor,
Ah what will Eldon say, Mr. Mayor?
If he has time to spare,
He'll surely blast their prayer,
For the luve of his calf Chare, Mr. Mayor, Mr. Mayor.
For the luve, &c.

Then just dee a' ye can, Mr. Mayor, Mr. Mayor,
And follow up the plan, Mr. Mayor,
Else, faicks, ye'll get a spur
In your Corporation fur,
And ye'll plant at Shields wor BURR!!! Mr. Mayor, Mr. Mayor,
And ye'll plant at Sheels wor BURR!!! Mr. Mayor.

A SHIELDS SOLILOQUY.

Ah! what's to come on us a' now?
(A Shields gowk was heard, grumbling, to say)
We now find it far ower true,
That Newcassel has getten the day:
They'd only been gulling our folk,
When they sent us down that fine letter;
But aw think 'twas too much a joke,
To tell us we'd getten the better.
Rum ti iddity, &c.