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.
Was't this made our guns fire sae loud?
Did our bells for this ring sae merry?
For this our ships swagger'd sae proud?
Faith, we've been in too big a hurry!
But our STAR, they said, could de ought,
And the Treasury quickly would gull--
Our Butcher was clever, we thought;
But aw think he's come hyem like a feul.
Rum ti iddity, &c.
Yet our plan we all thought was good;
For we'd build them large cellars and kees;
It likewise might be understood,
Docks and warehouses tee, if they'd please.
Then we try'd to set in full view,
That the Revenue it would increase;
Especially as we stood now,
When we thought ourselves snugly at peace.
Rum ti iddity, &c.
But the Newcassel folk now, it seems,
Had sent some deep jockies te Lunnin,
And they suen upset all our schemes,
Which we thought se clever and cunnin:
For BIG-WIG, who mounts the Wool-sack,
Said, That he plainly saw we were wrang,
Since it had been prov'd in a crack,
By the _Jockey_, whose ARM they call STRANG.
Rum ti iddity, &c.
But what's warse than losing our Branch,
Is being spoil'd in our grand speculation;
For 'stead of our shining se staunch,
We now meet wi' nought but vexation.
Now certainly we must be wrang,
The Barbers are swearing and raving,
Our faces are all grown se lang,
They'll double the price of our shaving!!!
Rum ti iddity, &c.
THE GREEN-WIVES' LAMENTATION.
Wor Green-stalls on Sandhill, se lang fam'd of yore,
Where Greenwives display'd all their fresh shining store,
Where tubs wi' tatoes their proud crests did rear,
Cabbage, carrots, an' turnips wi' joy did appear.
Wor time on the Sandhill wi' pleasure did glide,
To display all wor wares and to scold was wor pride;
Wor noise did the greet folks of Gotham engage:
By the stalls of the Butchers we're now to be caged.
But think not the Sandhill we'll tamely resign,
By the L--d we will meet an' we'll kick up a shine!
Wor voice we'll extend, and with noise rend the sky,
When from the Sandhill we're compell'd to fly.
With speed, haste assemble the first market-day,
Wor forces we'll marshal in glorious array:
A leader let's choose, a virago so bold,
The word let her give, and we rarely will scold.
From off the Sandhill ere our legions depart,
We will vent all wor spleen, and ease each full heart,
We will scold till no malice or rancour remain,
Then march off wor forces--a large warlike train.
A procession we'll form, wi' wor tubs and wor swills,
And move with slaw steps frae the dear-lov'd Sandhill;
And when the new station our forces obtain,
Well take a good glass and well scorn to complain.
A PETITION
_From the Women of the Vegetable Market, to the Mayor of Newcastle._
When away fra the Sandhill, sir, at first that we wur sent,
It was wi' heavy hearts, ye ken, yur Honour, that we went;
But now iv the New Market, sir, we're ev'ry ane admir'd,
And if ye'll nobut _cover_ us, it's all that is desir'd!
Afore your worship judges us, now make a little _paws_,
And dinna gan to say that we complain without a _caws_;
For that yur Honour _cover'd_ a' the country wives, yeknow,
But huz, yur awn sweet townswomen, ye let neglected go.