He fand his sel a' wrang,
For tyaken Watson up yen neet
For singing a wee bit sang.
Another chep ca'd Walton te,
Aw own that he was rather murry,
For he tell'd the watchman to be off,
Or else he'd give him Tom and Jurry,
Whack, fal, &c.
The watchman seiz'd him by the neck,
Then up cam other two:
Says Walton. 'Now let go o' me,
Or aw'll let ye knaw just now.'
Then he lifted up his great lang airm,
Me soul he gave him sec a knoller;
But the watchman kept his haud se lang,
He pull'd off Walton's dandy collar.
Whack, fal, &c.
To the watch-house then they dragg'd them off,
Before greet Captain Carr:
Says he, 'What ha'e ye getten here,
Me worthy men o' war?'
Wye, sir, says they, here's twe greet cheps,
The yen aw shure deserves a swingin;
For they've roar'd and shouted thro' the streets,
And wyaken'd a' the folks wi' singin.
Whack, fal, &c.
'Aye, aye,' says Carr, 'aw ken them weel,
Tyek them out o' my seet!
Away wi' them to Mr. Scott,
And keep them there a' neet.'
Says Walton, 'Will ye hear me speak?'
Says Tommy, 'Go you to the devil!'
'Wye, wye,' says Walton, 'never mind,
But surely this is damn'd uncivil.'
Whack, fal, &c.
Then away they went to Mr. Scott,
And fand him varry kind:
Says he, 'Young men, I'll treat ye weel,
Tho' here against your mind.'
'O Sir,' said they, 'you're very good,
But faith this place luiks dark and frightful!'
Says Walton, 'What a sweet perfume!'
Says Watson, 'Lord, it's quite delightful!'
Whack, fal, &c.
But Watson myed Tom Carr to rue,
Before 'twas varry lang:
He had him tried before me Lord,
And Carr fand he was wrang.
Me Lord tell'd Carr he had ne reet
To shop them, e'en had it been lyater,
Until he'd tyen them, first ov a',
Before a Mister Magistrater.
Whack, fal, &c.
Now Tommy Carr may claw his lug,
Th' expences he mun pay:
But still there's nyen that's sorry for't;
'It sarves him reet,' they say.
So howay, lads, let's off to toon,
We'll a' put wor bit better hats on;
And if Tom Carr shops us agyen,
Me sowl! we'll give him Waller Watson.
JOHNNY SC--TT AND TOMMY C--RR.
A DIALOGUE.
_Sc--tt_--Ah! woe's me! what shall I do,
Tommy C--rr, Tommy C--rr?
For I have most cause to rue,
Tommy C--rr!
Though your costs are very great,
Yet much harder is my fate--
I may shut the Kitty gate,
Tommy C--rr!
_C--rr_--I will soon be clear of mine,
Johnny Sc--tt, Johnny Sc--tt!
For I will myself confine,
Johnny Sc--tt!
Just for three short weeks or so,
Up the nineteen steps I'll go,
And be wash'd as white as snow,
Johnny Sc--tt!
_Sc--tt_--Oh! that tyrant of a Judge,
Tommy C--rr, Tommy C--rr!
He has surely had some grudge,
Tommy C--rr!
Can we gain our honest bread,
Now when cut off in full trade,
We who've been so long well fed,
Tommy C--rr!
_C--rr_--Oh! how trifling was our chance,
Johnny Sc--tt, Johnny Sc--tt!
Oh! had Scarlett been at France,
Johnny Sc--tt!
Brougham's help was all we had,
Well he knew our case was bad;
And au'd Bayley frown'd like mad,
Johnny Sc--tt!
_Sc--tt_--I my huckstering shop may let,
Tommy C--rr, Tommy C--rr!
No more customers we'll get,
Tommy C--rr!
Mrs. Sc--tt has room to growl,
There is not one hungry soul
For to buy a penny roll,
Tommy C--rr!
_C--rr_--Let us curse the day and hour,
Johnny Sc--tt, Johnny Sc--tt!
That depriv'd us of our power,
Johnny Sc--tt!
Fam'd Newcastle's rattling boys
Will kick up a thund'ring noise,
And for fun will black our eyes,
Johnny Sc--tt!
TOMMY C--RR IN LIMBO.
Tune--"Scots wha ha'e," &c.
Ye that like a lark or spree!
Ye that's iv the Kitty free!
Now's the time for mirth and glee,
For Tommy is up stairs.
Ye that never yet went wrang--
Ne'er did warse than sing a sang,
Ye that offen had to gan
And visit Mr. Mayor's.
Now then let your joys abound--
Now begin your neetly rounds,
And myek the streets wi' mirth resound.
Since Tommy is up stairs.
Whe before Judge Bayley stood,
For sending Watson into quod?--
Whe wad grace a _frame of Wood_?
But honest Tommy C--r.
And when fou, wi' cronies dear,
Ye'd sally out to Filly Fair,
Whe was sure to meet ye there?
But honest Tommy C--r:
Wiv his beaver round and low,
Little switch, and thick surtou',
Like Satan prowling to and fro,
Seeking to devour.
Whe was sure your sport to marr,
And send ye off to Cabbage Square?
Whe was Judge and Jury there?
But honest Tommy C--r.
Whe wad never tyek yor word?
And if to walk ye'd not afford,
Whe wad strap ye on a board?
But honest Tommy C--r.
THE KITTY PORT ADMIRAL AT THE BENCH; OR, DOGBERRY IN THE SUDS.
_Air--"The Opera Hat."_
Oh the Devil go with you, fat Tom C--r!
Bribe him well, he'll be your counsellor,
Give you courage when at the bar,
And grant you a special favour:
Some folks thowt you were gyen to hell,
And other some to Derry:
But sup the broth you've made yoursel',
There's no one can be sorry.
So the Devil go with you, &c.
'Tis well you leave the scorn of those
You've sent unto the work-house,
For, hangman-like, you'd have cash and clothes,
When their friends were glad of the carcase.
So the Devil, &c.
Bad luck, say I, to your brother brimair!
Your crimes 'twill not half smother;
So go to Stuart's, in Denton-chare,
And prithee choose another.
So the Devil, &c.
For if ever upon the Quay again,
You beg for beef and biscuit,
The sailor lads will surely cry,
Gods! lad, you've sairly miss'd it.
So the Devil, &c.
May the tread-mill turn to a whiskey-shop,
The parrot into a monkey,
And Tom C--r selling fine shirt neck buttons,
Upon a tripe-wife's donkey,
So the Devil, &c.
THE OWL.
Written Feb. 1826.
Tune--X, Y, Z.
Now run away amang the snobs,
An' stangies i' the Garth, man,
An hear about the greet black Owl,
That's let on Cappy's hearth, man--
Of sic a breed, the Deil his sell
Its marrow canna find in Hell!
It hops about wiv its slouch hat,
Can worry mice like wor Tom-cat--
And sic a yarkin blubber heed,
It bangs X, Y, that famous steed,
Or ony thing ye like, man.
Oft frev its nest, in Cabbage Square,
It flaffer'd out at neets, man,
'Mang sic a flock that neetly blare,
And carry crooks and leets, man--
Then prowl'd wor streets in search o' prey,
And if a mouse but cross'd his way,
He quickly had it by the nose,
And pawk'd it off to kuel its toes--
Did Hoo! Hoo! wi' the blubber heed,
That bangs X, Y, that famous steed--
So, Cappy, keep him tight, man.
To tell how Cappy gat this burd,
Aw wad be rather fash'd, man;
Some say that, of its awn accord,
It went to get _white wash'd_, man.
So scrub him, Cap, with a' yor might,
Just nobbit make the lubbart white--
But if yor brushin' winna dee,
There's Waller Watson, Walton, tee,
They'll scrub him as they did before,
And make the bowdy-kite to roar--
If Cappy keeps him tight, man.
St. Nich'las' bells now sweetly ring,
Yor music's sae bewitchin'--
Ye lads in Neil's[12] now louder sing,
And warble weel Hell's Kitchen[13]--
For yor au'd friend is in the trap,
Alang wi' his awn brother, Cap:
Then shout hurra! agyen we're free,
At neets to hev a canny spree;
In gannin hyem, ne mair we'll dreed
The lubbart wi' the chuckle heed--
Mind, Cappy, keep him tight, man.
Footnote 12: A famed public-house at the head of Manor-chare.
Footnote 13: The tap-room of a famed public-house, near the head of
Groat market.
LOVELY DELIA.
Tune--"Sleeping Maggie."
Upon the flow'ry banks o' Tyne,
The rose and myrtle may entwine;
But were there every sweet divine,
They wadna a' be like my Delia.
Clear beams the eye o' Delia,
Heaven's in the smile o' Delia;
Nor flowers that blaw, nor falling snaw,
Were e'er sae pure as lovely Delia.
Gently blaw, thou whistlin' wind,
Along the bonny banks o' Tyne,
Where nature every grace combin'd
When she first form'd my life, my Delia!
Clear beams the eye o' Delia,
Heaven's in the smile o' Delia;
Nor flower that blaws, nor winter snaws,
Were e'er sae pure as lovely Delia.
Tho' a' the wee birds round me sing,
To welcome back the blithefu' spring;
Yet a' the music they can bring
Is nae sae sweet's the voice o' Delia.
Clear beams the eye o' Delia,
Heaven's in the smile o' Delia;
Nor flower that blaws, nor drifting snaws,
Were e'er sae pure as my lov'd Delia.
The bonny little playfu' lamb,
That frisks along the verdant plain,
Is nae mair free fra guilty stain,
Than is my life, my love, my Delia.
Clear beams the eye o' Delia,
Heaven's in the smile o' Delia;
Nor flowers that blaw, nor whitest snaw,
Were e'er sae pure as my sweet Delia.
The priests they tell us, all above,
With angels, do delight in love;
Then surely angels must approve
Their image in my lovely Delia.
Clear beams the eye o' Delia,
Heaven's in the smile o' Delia;
Nor flower that blaws, nor new-born snaws,
Were e'er sae pure as lovely Delia.
Truth and kindness ever reigns,
In a' her heart, through a' her veins;
Yet nane shall ken the pleasing pains
I hae endur'd for my sweet Delia.
Heaven's in the smile o' Delia,
Blight's the beam in her dark eye;
Nor flower that blaws, nor virgin snaws,
Were e'er sae pure as my lov'd Delia.
PANDON DEAN.
Tune--"Banks o' Doon."
Farewell, ye fragrant, shady groves!
Farewell, thou charming sylvan scene,
Where partial mem'ry hapless roves--
I bid adieu to Pandon Dean.
I bid ye all a long adieu,
And fare thee well, my lovely Jean;
Thine equal I shall never view,
Whilst far awa' fra Pandon Dean.
The songsters chanting on the spray,
The shrubs and flowers, sae fresh and green,
Increase my heart's tumultuous play,
Which dwells on thee and Pandon Dean.
Though far awa' in foreign lands,
And trackless oceans foam between,
I ne'er shall break those dearest bands
Thou wreath'dst for me in Pandon Dean.
These to my heart shall dearest be,
When sharp afflictions pierce me keen;
'Twill soothe my woes to think on thee,
Thou fairest flower in Pandon Dean.
If Fortune smile, I'll then return,
To deck my love in silken sheen;
And dwell with her just by the burn
That wimples through the bonny Dean.
THE NEWCASTLE HACKNEYS.
The Londoners long for example we've chose,
And imported each fashion as fast as it 'rose;
But the best hit of all, in our awkward approaches,
Is St. Nicholas' Square, and the new hackney coaches.
The ladies have long had advantage of man,
In that easy conveyance, a walking sedan;
Now the tables are turn'd on the opposite side,
For the ladies must walk while the gentlemen ride.
When our beaux are dress'd out for a rout or a ball,
They've nothing to do but a hackney to call--
Consult not the weather, nor muffle their chins--
No danger of breaking, o'er scrapers, their shins.
When a couple's resolv'd on a trip to the church,
Where a lady has sometimes been left in the lurch;
To prevent a misfortune like this, for the future,
Pack up in a hackney your amiable suitor.
When impertinent tradesmen you're likely to meet,
Or a bailiff descry at the end of the street--
Press into your service a hackney and pair,
For the devil himself would not look for you there.
To many things else they'll apply, I've a notion,
They'll even be found to assist your devotion;
The doctors will find them most useful, no doubt on't,
In peopling the world, or to send people out on't.
Then success to the hackneys, and long may they roll--
Of balls and assemblies the life and the soul:
Since so useful they are, and so cheap is the fare,
Pray who would not ride in a carriage and pair?
NEWCASTLE HACKNEY COACHES.
Tune--"The bold Dragoon."
Of a' the toons that's i' the north,
Newcastle bangs them a',
For lady folk and gentlemen,
And every thing that's braw,
A fig for Lunnen i' the South--
But mind now, let's hae nae reproaches,
For they say that Lunnen's hang'd hersel,
Through spite at wor new Hackney Coaches.
Yep! fal der al dal, &c.
Wor toon has grown se big now,
Aw ne'er saw the like before;
Live ye only lang eneugh,
Ye'll see't join'd to Tynemouth shore;
We've our Literinary Sicties,
Shops cramm'd wiv plate and diamond broaches,
But it's ne use telling ony mair,
There's nowt gans doon but Hackney Coaches.
Yep! &c.
Ca-la-de-scoups were yence the rage,
Sedans--were all the go;
But till the noise gets fairly ower,
They may keep them iv a row;
Gang where you will, the talk is still,
At tea or cards why all the rage is,
"Why bless me, sir! have you not seen
Our stylish two-horse Hackney Stages!"
Yep! &c.
A Bond-street lounge tee we might hev,
If 't wasn't for the mud!
A Piccadilly we're gaun to get,
And other streets as good:
Maw sangs! aw think we'll 'clipse them out!
But faith I'd better haud me ditty,
For fear, ye ken, in ganging hyem,
They Hackneyfy me to the Kitty.
Yep! &c.
NEWCASTLE IMPROVEMENTS.
BY R. CHARLTON.
Tune--"Canny Newcassel."
What a cockneyfied toon wor Newcassel hez grown--
Wey aw scarce can believe me awn senses;
Wor canny aud customs for ever ha'e flown,
And there's nowt left ahint for to mense us:
The fashions fra Lunnin are now a' the go,
As there's nowt i' wor toon to content us--
Aw'll not be surpriz'd at wor next 'lection day,
If twe Cockneys put up to 'present us.
Times ha'e been when a body's been axt out to tea,
Or to get a wee bit of a shiver,
Wor hearts were sae leet we ne'er thowt o' the cau'd,
Or the fear o' wet feet plagu'd us niver;
But i' blanket coats now we mun get muffled up,
For fear that the cold should approach us--
And to hinder a spark gettin on to wor breeks,
We mun jump into fine Hackney Coaches.
Aw've seen when we've gyen iv a kind freenly way
To be blithe o'er a jug o' good nappy--
The glass or the horn we shov'd round wi' the pot
For then we were jovial and happy:
But now we mun all hev a glass t' wor sels,
Which plainly appears, on reflection,
We think a' wor neighbours ha'e getten the cl-p,
And are frighten'd we catch the infection.
The very styen pavement they'll not let alyen,
For they've tuen'd up and puttin down gravel;
So now, gentle folks, here's a word i' yor lugs--
Mind think on't whenever you travel;
If in dry dusty weather ye happen to stray,
Ye'll get yor een a' full o' stour, man--
Or, if it be clarty, you're sure for to get
Weel plaister'd byeth 'hint and afore, man.
If a' their improvements aw were for to tell,
Aw might sit here and sing--aye, for ever;
There's the rum weak as watter, i'stead o' the stuff
That was us'd for to burn out wor liver!
Aw's fair seek and tir'd o' the things that aw've sung,
So aw think now aw'll myek a conclusion,
By wishing the cheps iv a helter may swing,
That ha'e brought us to a' this confusion.
COME UP TO THE SCRATCH!
_Or, The Pitman Haggish'd._
BY R. EMERY.
Tune--"Calder Fair."
Now haud yor tongues 'bout Mollinox, or ony o' the trade,
Ye ne'er could say that Kenton Ralph of e'er a chep was flay'd--
Yor Langans and yor Springs may come to Kenton toon iv flocks,
Wor Ralph 'ill smatter a' their ribs, he is sae strang, begox!
Fal de ral, &c.
Wiv Ralph and Luke aw off yen neet for Sandgate on a spree,
And swore Newcassel dandy cheps to fight and myek them flee--
We gat into the Barley Mow wor thropples for to wet,
And sat and drank till fairly fu', alang wi' wood-legg'd Bet.
Fal de ral, &c.
We gat up, for 'twas gettin' lyet, and leaving Sandgate suen,
To Pandon went to hev a quairt before we left the toon;
Some Fawdon lads were in the Boar, carrying on the war,
Wi' Humpy Dick and Black Scotch Peg, a' singin' 'Slush Tom C--rr.'
Fal de ral, &c.
Then gannin hyem by Pilgrim-street, some dandy for to catch,
Twe cheps, half drunk, cam up tiv us, and said, 'Cum t' the scratch!
Here's Lukey kens that aw's a man, and scartin aw disdain,
But come and lick us if ye can--aw'll fight till aw be slain!'
Fal de ral, &c.
They cramm'd a haggish on each fist, or something very like,
Then held them up close to wor fyece, and dar'd us for to strike:
But Lukey, clickin' up his claes, cried, Ralphy, lad, let's run!
Od smash yor luggish heed, how-way--becrike it's Tommy D----n!
Fal de ral, &c.
Poor Lukey ran, but Ralph was left, he couldn't get away,
They pelted him till Watchey cam and ended wor sad fray;
Then Ralphy suen fand Luke agyen; but such a seet, begox!
His nose and fyece was thick o' blood--just like a Bubbly Jock's.
Fal de ral, &c.
Smash! how! dis thou ken Tommy D----n? said Ralphy in a hurry:
Aw seed him fightin' on the stage yen neet in 'Tom and Jurry;'
A grocer chep aw sat beside, tell'd me his nyem in turn,
Wi' Crib, an' Gas, an' a' the rest, and cliver Jemmy B----n.
Fal de ral, &c.
That neet we had a haggish fight, 'tween B----n and D----n sae fine--
Aw roar'd out, Aw'll lay ony brass that Jim ower Tom will shine!
But, wiv his haggish, Tommy suen gav Jemmy such a peg.
He fell smack doon upon the stage--begox, he broke his leg!
Fal de ral, &c.
The next time aw cum ti' the toon, if we fa' in togither,
We'll hev a jill and drink success to B----n and D----n howsever:
Aw own that aw was fairly duen, an' smatter'd varry sair,
But ne'er for want o' haggishes shall Ralph be beaten mair.
Fal de ral, &c.
THE PITMAN'S DREAM;
_Or, A Description of the North Pole_.
BY THE SAME.
Tune--"Newcastle Fair."
Aw dream'd aw was at the North Powl,
It's a fine place a-back o' the muen, man--
Maw sangs! Captain Parry will growl,
For he cannot get tid half sae seun, man:
There aw seed the Queen, Caroline,
And her lass they sae badly did use, man,
Wi' Geordy the Thurd drinking wine,
And the snuffy au'd dyem brushing shoes, man.
Rum ti iddity, &c.
Aw began then to swagger about,
Just to see Castleree aw was itchin',
When Percival gav a greet shout,
Od smash, he's down stairs i' the Kitchen!
Thowt aw, then he's just safe eneugh--
Walking farther, aw meets Bonapartie,
Alang wi' au'd Blucher, sae bluff,
Speaking gabb'rish to poor Captain Starkie.
Rum ti iddity, &c.
Aw gat in to see Robin Hood,
Had twe or three quairts wi' John Nipes, man;
And Wesley, that yence preach'd sae good,
Sat smokin' and praisin' the swipes, man:
Legs of mutton here grows on each tree,
Jack Nipes said, and wasn't mistaken--
When rainin' there's such a bit spree,
For there comes down great fat sides o' bacon.
Rum ti iddity, &c.
Brave Nelson here sells wooden legs,
Iv a shop where aw think he'll get rich in--
Just to see au'd Mahomet aw begs,
But, wi' Thurtell, he's doom'd i' the Kitchen:
Aw seed Billy Shakespeare sae prime,
Of plays he has written greet lots, man--
And there great John Kemble does shine--
Sam. Johnson sups crowdies wi' Scots, man.
Rum ti iddity, &c.
How canny Joe Foster did stare,
As he trotted past me on a donkey,
'Mang lasses still wild as a hare,
And he keeps Jacky Coxon as flonkey:
Ne bishops nor priests here they need,
For the folks they can say their awn pray'rs, man--
But, to myek them work hard for their breed,
They're sent on a mission, doon stairs, man.
Rum ti iddity, &c.
Aw agyen see'd the canny au'd King,
He's a far better chep now than ever--
But, set a' yor fine kings iv a ring,
I still think Fourth Geordy's as clever.
Aw've getten a pass for Doon Stairs,
And if aw see owt there bewitchin',
Wey just think o' me i' yor pray'rs,
And aw'll send an account o' the Kitchen.
Rum ti iddity, &c.
THE PITMAN'S DREAM;
_Or, His Description of the Kitchen_.
BY THE SAME.
Tune--"Hell's Kitchen."
The day was fine, the sun did shine,
Aw thowt aw was preparing
To leave the Powl, myed me repine--
Aw scarce could keep fra blairin';--
A greet balloon was brought me seun,
Twe cheps wi' wings sae switchin',
Wiv it were sent to tyek me doon
To shew me a' the kitchen.
Right fal de ral, &c.
Wiv a' my friends aw had a jill,
King Geordy was quite canty--
Says he--Now eat and drink yor fill,
Doon stairs good things are scanty.
When deun, says aw--Kind folks, fareweel'
Maw Guides their wings are stretchin'--
In the balloon aw off did reel
To see this querish kitchen.
Right fal de ral, &c.
We doon a narrow place did rowl--
As sure as maw nyem's Cranky.
This is the passage in the Powl
That's mention'd by the Yankee:[14]
As we flew on it darker grew,
Wi' such a noise and screechin'--
Greet clouds o' fire we darted through,
And landed in the kitchen.
Right fal de ral, &c.
They use poor folks here warse than beasts--
Greet lots o' Turks and Tartars,
Wi' lawyers, quakers, kings, and priests,
Were phizzin' in a' quarters.
The Jews were bowlting lumps o' pork--
Mahomet, that au'd vixen,
Was toss'd about frae fork to fork,
Wi' Derry in the kitchen.
Right fal de ral, &c.
Fast i' the stocks au'd Neddy sat,
The late Newcassel bellman--
And there was Honour Breet, Bed Watt,
Just gaun the rig hersel', man:
Then farther in, upon a stuel,
Sat Judy Downey stitchin',
She d--n'd me for a greet stark cull,
For comin' to the kitchen.
Right fal de ral, &c.
Aw, wi' the heat and want o' drink,
Was swelter'd myest to deed, man--
When fairly deun and gaun to sink,
Aw was whupt off wi' speed, man.
How aw escap'd aw's puzzled sair,
'Twas like a sudden twitchin'
Aw, like a lairk, flew through the air,
Half roasted, frae the kitchen.
Right fal de ral, &c.
As aw cam doon aw pass'd the meun,
An' her greet burning mountains--
Her turnpike roads aw fand out seun,
Strang beer runs here in fountains:
To hev a sup aw was reet fain,
Wi' some queer cheps thrang ditchin'--
But waken'd then in Percy Main,
A lang way frae the kitchen.
Right fal de ral, &c.
Footnote 14: Alluding to the following extraordinary advertisement
which recently made its appearance in the American journals:--
_St. Louis, (Missouri Territory)_
_North America, April 10, A. D. 1818._
"To all the world--I declare the earth to be hollow and habitable within;
containing a number of concentric spheres, one within the other, and
that their poles are open 12 or 16 degrees. I pledge myself in support
of this truth, and am ready to explore the concave, if the world will
support and aid me in the undertaking.
JOHN SYMMES," &c. &c.
FAMED FILLY FAIR;
_Or, A Peep into Pilgrim Street_.
Come, Geordy, an' aw'll tell ye, lad, where aw hae been,
In Pilgrim-street, where there's to see an' to be seen,
A great many lasses, and they shew off sic fine airs,
Aw's sure they're all as wild as ony March hares.
Now, d'ye nobut gan there iv next Sunday neet,
About the time o' six o'clock, you'll see the fine seet;
A large show of lasses fine, that drive about there,
They nyem'd it but reet when they ga'd Filly Fair.
Now, one Sunday neet, to the high town aw went,
That aw might get the evening cannily spent:
Among the rabble, sure enough, aw gat there,
And saw the first dresses in fam'd Filly Fair.
There's some lasses, they say, that are so very keen,
That they come to this place just for to be seen;
And, on every wet Sunday, they sit down to prayer,
And think it provoking they're not at the Fair.
Aw enter'd the street with a great deal of glee,
Where the lads and the lasses in flocks aw did see:
The task wad be endless to tell a' what was there,
Aw mean the fine dresses in fam'd Filly Fair.
Aw look'd about all these fine dresses to see,
Aw glowr'd at the lasses, and they glowr'd at me:
So now for a description, I will give to a hair,
Of all the fine things in this fam'd Filly Fair.
There was white gowns, silk spencers, and flounces galore,
And queer monkey jackets aw'd ne'er seen before;
With little drakes' tails, that hing from the hair,
And large ringlets a' curl'd, was in fam'd Filly Fair.
The spencers a' carv'd, wye, with cords of a' kind,
That seem'd just like soulgers afore and behind;
And black silks, and stript silks, and a' silks was there,
And pads, and cat backs were in fam'd Filly Fair.
There was hats like my awn, with fine flee-behint cloaks,
And queer things ahint them, like the pitmen's bait pokes;
And hats myed of muslin, to let in the air,
Besides some wi' high crowns were in fam'd Filly Fair.
The hats were deck'd o'er a' with ribbons and lace,
And lairge cabbage nets were thrawn o'er their face:
Paddysoles too were there, as were monie things mair,
And fine mobbed caps were in fam'd Filly Fair.
There was scarfs of a' kinds, and of every degree;
And little wee bairneys, scarce up to my knee;
With beaux, arm in arm, they were driving thro' there,
'Twas shameful to see them in fam'd Filly Fair.
O, mun! just like a loadstone in this curious place,
For what I hev tell'd you, aw'm sure it's the case--
It's the case of them all that walk about there,
To be talk'd of by strangers in fam'd Filly Fair.
And besides a' the tricks that I cannot explain,
For this kind of rambling I'm sure I disdain:
Take advice, my good lasses, and don't wander there,
Or your character's stain'd by walking the Fair.
This advice now, I hope, you will readily take,
And keep up your character, for your own sake;
It's nought unto me if all night you walk there,
But your name will be blasted by attending the Fair.
T----LY'S BEST BLOOD.
A North Shields Song.--Written in 1820.
While Cartwright, and Wooler, and Cobbett, and all
The souls of the brave attend Liberty's call,
J----n T----ley, the best friend of kings since the flood,
Is ready for slavery to spill his best blood.