The Newcastle Song Book Part 21

Fareweel Shoe Ties, Jack Tate, Whin Bob, Cull Billy, and Jack c.u.mmin, Au'd Judy, Jen Bawloo--aw'll sob Your praises all at Lunnin.

Some such as me the hyke myed sick, And myed them rue their roamin': Still forward plung'd wor gallant s.h.i.+p, And left the water foamin'.

Waes me! but 'tis a bonny seet, O land o' beef and puddin'!

To see thy tars, in pluck complete, Haud fair their course for Lunnin!

Hail, Tyneside lads! in collier fleets, The first in might and motion-- In suns.h.i.+ne days or stormy neets The lords upon the ocean.

Come England's foes--a countless crew-- Ye'll gie their gobs a sc.u.mmin', And myek them a' the day to rue, They glibb'd their jaws at Lunnin.

I thought mysel a sailor good, And flired while some lay sprawlin', Till where the famous Robin Hood Sends out his calms or squallin'-- 'Twas there aw felt aw scarce ken how-- For a' things teuk a b.u.mmin', And myed me wish, wi' retch and spew, The s.h.i.+p safe moor'd at Lunnin.

As round by Flambrough Head we shot, Down cam a storm upon us-- Thinks aw, we're fairly gyen to pot-- O dear!--have mercy on us!

Ower northern plains 'twill dowly sound, And set their eyes a runnin', When they shall tell that aw was drown'd, Just gannin up to Lunnin.

To cheer wor hearts in vain they brought The porter, grog, and toddy-- My head swam round whene'er aw thought Upon a fat pan-soddy.

"O what the plague fetch'd us frae hyem!"

Some in the glumps were glummin'; I could hae blubber'd, but thought shyem, While gaun a voyage to Lunnin.

Cross Boston Deeps how we did spin, Skelp'd on by noisy Boreas, Up Yarmouth Roads, and seun up Swin, The water flew before us.

O glorious seet! the Nore's in view-- Like fire and flood we're scuddin': Ne mair we'll bouk wor boiley now, But seun be safe at Lunnin.

Hail, bonny Tyames! weel smon thy waves!

A world might flourish bi' them-- And, faiks, they weel deserve the praise That a' the world gies ti them.

O lang may commerce spread her stores, Full on thy bosom dinnin'-- Weel worthy thou to lave the sh.o.r.es O' sic a town as Lunnin.

Seun Black-Wall Point we left astern, Far ken'd in dismal story-- And Greenwich Towers we now discern, Au'd England's pride and glory.

Sure Nature's sel inspir'd my staves, For I began a crunnin', And blair'd, 'Britannia rule the waves!'

As by we sail'd for Lunnin.

Fornenst the Tower, we made a click, Where traitors gat their fairins', And where they say that hallion d.i.c.k Yence sc.u.mfish'd two wee bairins.

Hitch, step, and loup, I sprang ash.o.r.e.

My heart reet full o' funnin'-- And seun forgat the ocean's war, Amang the joys o' Lunnin.

THE NEWCa.s.sEL PROPS.

Oh, waes me, for wor canny toon, It canna stand it lang-- The props are tumbling one by one, The beeldin seun mun gan; For Deeth o' late has no been blate, But sent some jovial souls a joggin: Aw niver griev'd for Jackey Tate, Nor even little Airchy Loggan.

But when maw lugs was 'lectrified Wiv Judy Downey's deeth, Alang wi' Heufy Scott aw cried, Till byeth was out o' breeth; For greet and sma', fishwives and a'

Luik'd up tiv her wi' veneration-- If Judy's in the Courts above, Then for Au'd Nick there'll be nae 'cation.

Next Captain Starkey teuk his stick, And myed his final bow; Aw wonder if he's scribblin yet, Or what he's efter now; Or if he's drinking gills o' yell, Or axing pennies to buy bakky-- If not allow'd where Starkey's gyen, Aw'm sure that he'll be quite unhappy.

Jack c.o.xon iv a trot went off, One morning very seun-- Cull Billy said, he'd better stop, But Deeth cried, Jackey, come!

Oh! few like him could lift their heel, Or tell what halls were in the county: Like mony a proud, black-coated chiel', Jack liv'd upon the parish bounty.

But cheer up, lads, and dinna droop, Blind w.i.l.l.y's to the fore, The blythest iv the motley groop, And fairly worth the score: O weel aw like to hear him sing, 'Bout au'd Sir Mat. and Dr. Brummel-- If he but lives to see the King, There's nyen o' w.i.l.l.y's friends need grummel.

Cull Billy, tee, wor lugs to bliss, Wiv news 'bout t'other warld, Aw move that, when wor Vicar dees, The place for him be arl'd; For aw really think, wiv half his wit, He'd myek a reet good pulpit knocker: Aw'll tell ye where the birth wad fit-- He hugs sae close the parish copper.

Another chep, and then aw's duen, He bangs the tothers far: Yor mavies wonderin whe aw mean-- Ye gowks, it's Tommy C--r!

When lodgin's scarce, just speak to him, Yor hapless case he'll surely pity.

He'll 'sist upon your gannin in, To sup wi' S--tt, and see the Kitty.

NEWCa.s.sEL WONDERS.

Sic wonders there happens iv wor canny toon, Sae wise and sae witty Newca.s.sel has grown, That for hummin, and hoaxing, and tyekin folk in, We'll suen learn the Lunneners far better things.

We've wonderful Knights, and wondrous Hussars, Wonderful Noodles, and wonderful Mayors; For as lang as a keel gans down river Tyne, For wisdom and valour, O A----y, thou'll s.h.i.+ne.

We've R----s and V----s, a time-serving crew; But, says aw to mysel, gie the deevil his due, For ov priests and excis.e.m.e.n, and limbs o' the law, There's ten tiv the dozen 'ill gan down belaw.

And whe wad hae thowt now that iver Au'd Nick, Wiv wor canny toon wad hae gettin sae thick; That iv Luckley's au'd house he's set up h.e.l.l's Kitchen, Where the tyelyers and sn.o.bs find the yell se bewitchin.

There's canny Tom Lid--l, they've myed him a Lord, For learning his ploughmen to play wi' the sword; But if ony invaders should Britain a.s.sail, They'll slip off their skins and run to the plough-tail.

We've a Captain of watchmen, he's second to nyen, He dislikes to see folks gannin quietly hyem; For if ye but mention the nyem o' Tom C--r, To the care of Jack S--tt, he'll yor body transfer.

TIM TUNBELLY.

Tune--"Canny Newca.s.sel."

Now lay up your lugs, a' ye freemen that's poor, And aw'll rhyme without pension or hire-- Come listen, ye dons that keep cows on the Moor, Though ye couldn't keep them iv a byre-- And a' ye non-freemen, wherever ye be, Though dame Fortune has myed sic objections, That you're neither o' Town nor o' Trinity free, To be brib'd and get drunk at elections.

When aw was but little, aw mind varry weel That Joe C--k was the friend o' the freemen-- Aw mysel' heerd him say, his professions to seal, He wad care very little to dee, man.

Corporation corruptions he sair did expose, And show'd plain whee was rook and whee pigeon While El----h, the cobbler, in fury arose, And pummell'd Sir M----w's religion.

Some sly common councilman happen'd to think That the patriots mebbies had pocket-- So they sent Joe an order for wafers and ink, And the Custom-house swallow'd the prophet.

Now if ever these worthies should happen to dee, And Au'd Nick scamper off wiv his booty, Just imagine yorsels what reformin there'll be, If belaw there's ne _printing_ nor _duty_.

But there's honest folk yet now, so dinna be flaid, Though El----h and Joe has desarted-- For a chep they ca' Tunbelly's ta'en up the trade, And bizzy he's been sin' he started: Aboot town-surveyin' he's open'd wor eyes, And put Tommy Gee into a pickle-- He's gi'en to Jack Proctor a birth i' the skies, And immortal he's render'd Bob Nichol.

Now, if ony refuse to the freemen their dues, They're far greater fules than aw thowt them-- Let R----y ne mair stand G.o.dfather to cows, Nor his cousin swear on--till he's bowt them.

Niver mind what the cheps o' the council may say, He'll seun sattle obstropolous Billy-- Ne mair he'll refuse for a way-leave to pay, For fear o' the ditch and Tunbelly.

The good that he's deun scarce a volume wad tell, But there's one thing that will be a wonder-- If Tunbelly losses conceit iv his sel'

Till his head the green sod be laid under.

But we a' hae wor likens, what for shouldn't Tim?

And aw'm shure he a mense to wor town is-- So fill up your gla.s.ses once mair to the brim, And drink to the Newcastle JUNIUS.