The Newcastle Song Book Part 3

In a town near Newca.s.sel a Pitman did dwell, Wiv his wife nyemed Peg, a Tom Cat, and himsel; A dog, called Cappy, he doated upon, Because he was left him by great uncle Tom:

Weel bred Cappy, famous au'd Cappy, Cappy's the dog, Tallio, Tallio.

His tail pitcher-handled, his colour jet black, Just a foot and a half was the length of his back; His legs seven inches frev shoulders to paws, And his lugs, like two dockins, hung owre his jaws: Weel bred Cappy, &c.

For huntin of varmin reet cliver was he, And the house frev a' robbers his bark wad keep free: Could byeth fetch and carry; could sit on a stuil; Or, when frisky, wad hunt water-rats in a puil.

Weel bred Cappy, &c.

As Ralphy to market one morn did repair, In his hat-band a pipe, and weel kyem'd was his hair, Owre his arm hung a basket--thus onward he speels, And enter'd Newca.s.sel wi' Cap at his heels: Weel bred Cappy, &c.

He hadn't got further than foot of the Side, Before he fell in with the dog-killing tribe: When a highwayman fellow slipp'd round in a crack, And a thump o' the skull laid him flat on his back: Down went Cappy, &c.

Now Ralphy _extonish'd_, Cap's fate did repine, While it's eyes like twee little pearl b.u.t.tons did s.h.i.+ne: He then spat on his hands, in a fury he grew, Cries "Gad smas.h.!.+ but awse hev settisfaction o' thou, For knocking down Cappy," &c.

Then this grim-luiken fellow his bludgeon he rais'd, When Ralphy ey'd Cappy, and then stood amaz'd: But, fearing beside him he might be laid down, Threw him into the basket and bang'd out o' town: Away went Cappy, &c.

He breethless gat hyem, and when liften the sneck, His wife exclaim'd 'Ralphy! thou's suin getten back: 'Getten back!' replied Ralphy, 'I wish I'd ne'er gyen, In Newca.s.sel they're fellin dogs, la.s.ses, and men; They've knock'd down Cappy, &c.

If aw gan to Newca.s.sel, when comes wor pay week, Aw'll ken him agyen by the patch on his cheek: Or if ever he enters wor toon wiv his stick, We'll thump him about till he's black as au'd Nick,'

For killin au'd Cappy, &c.

Wiv tears in her een Peggy heard his sad tale, And Ralph, wiv confusion and terror grew pale: While Cappy's transactions with grief they talk'd o'er, He c.r.a.p out o' the basket quite brisk on the floor; Weel duin Cappy! &c.

THE PITMAN'S COURTs.h.i.+P.

Quite soft blew the wind from the west, The sun faintly shone in the sky, When Lukey and Bessy sat courting, As walking I chanc'd to espy.

Unheeded I stole close beside them, To hear their discourse was my plan; I listen'd each word they were saying, When Lukey his courts.h.i.+p began.

Last hoppen thou won up my fancy, Wi' thy fine silken jacket o' blue; An' smas.h.!.+ if their Newca.s.sel lyedies Could marrow the curls o' thy brow.

That day aw whiles danc'd wi' lang Nancy, She couldn't like thou lift her heel: Maw Grandy lik'd spice singing hinnies, Maw comely! aw like thou as weel.

Thou knaws, ever since we were little, Together we've rang'd through the woods; At neets hand in hand toddled hyem, Very oft wi' howl kites and torn duds: But now we can talk about mairage, An' lang sair for wor weddin day; When mairied thou's keep a bit shop, And sell things in a huikstery way.

And to get us a canny bit leevin, A' kinds o' fine sweetmeats we'll sell, Reed herrin, broon syep, and mint candy, Black pepper, dye sand, and sma' yell; Spice hunters, pick shafts, farden candles, Wax dollies, wi' reed leather shoes, Chalk p.u.s.s.y-cats, fine curly greens, Paper skyets, penny pies, an' huil-doos.

Aws help thou to tie up the shuggar, At neets when frae wark aw get lowse; And wor d.i.c.k, that leeves ower by High Whickham, He'll myek us broom buzzoms for nowse.

Like an image thou's stand ower the counter, Wi' thy fine muslin cambricker goon; And to let the folks see thou's a lyedy, On a cuddy thou's ride to the toon.

There's be matches, pipe clay, and brown dishes, Canary seeds, raisins, and fegs; And to please the pit laddies at Easter, A dish full o' gilty paste-eggs.

Wor neybors, that's snuffers and smokers, For wor snuff and backey they'll seek; And to shew them we deal wi' Newca.s.sel, Twee Blackeys sal mense the door cheek.

So now for Tim Bodkin awse send, To darn maw silk breeks at the knee, Thou thy ruffles and frills mun get ready, Next Whitsunday married we'll be.

Now aw think it's high time to be steppin, We've sitten tiv aw's about lyem.

So then, wiv a kiss and a cuddle, These lovers they bent their way hyem.

THE BABOON.

Sum time since, sum wild beasts there cam to the toon, And in the collection a famous Baboon, In uniform drest--if my story you're willin To believe, he gat lowse, and ran te the High Fellin.

Fal de rol la, &c.

Three Pitmen cam up--they were smoking their pipe, When straight in afore them Jake lowp'd ower the dike: Ho, Jemmy! smash, marrow! here's a red-coated Jew, For his fyece is a' hairy, and he hez on nae shoe!

Wey, man, thou's a fuil! for ye divent tell true, If thou says 'at that fellow was ever a Jew: Aw'll lay thou a quairt, as sure's my nyem's Jack, That queer luikin chep's just a Russian Cossack.

He's ne Volunteer, aw ken biv his wauk; And if he's outlandish, we'll ken biv his tauk: He's a lang sword ahint him, ye'll see'd when he turns: Ony luik at his fyece! smash his byens, how he gurns!

Tom flang doon his pipe, and set up a greet yell; He's owther a spy, or Bonnypairty's awnsell: Iv a crack the High Fellin was in full hue and cry, To catch Bonnypairt, or the hairy French spy.

The wives scamper'd off for fear he should bite, The men-folks and dogs ran te grip him se tight; If we catch him, said they, he's hev ne lodging here, Ne, not e'en a drop o' Reed Robin's sma' beer.

BILLY OLIVER'S RAMBLE

_Between Benwell and Newcastle._

Me nyem it's Billy Oliver, Iv Benwell town aw dwell; And aw's a cliver chep, aw's shure, Tho' aw de say'd mysel.

Sic an a cliver chep am aw, am aw, am aw, Sic an a cliver chep am aw.

There's not a lad iv a' wur wark, Can put or hew wi' me; Nor not a lad iv Benwell toon, Can coax the la.s.ses se.

Sic an a cliver chep am aw.

When aw gans tiv Newca.s.sel toon, Aw myeks mawsel se fine, Wur neybors stand and stare at me, And say, 'Eh! what a s.h.i.+ne!'

Sic an a cliver chep am aw.

And then aw walks wi' sic an air, That, if the folks hev eyes, They a'wis think it's sum greet man, That's c.u.m in i' disguise.

Sic an a cliver chep am aw.

And when aw gans down Westgate-street, And alang biv Denton-chare, Aw whussels a' the way aw gans, To myek the people stare.

Sic an a cliver chep am aw.

And then aw gans intiv the c.o.c.k, Ca's for a pint o' beer; And when the la.s.sie comes in wid, Aw a'wis says, Maw dear!

Sic an a cliver chep am aw.

And when aw gets a pint o' beer, Aw a'wis sings a sang; For aw've a nice yen aw can sing, Six an' thorty vairses lang.

Sic an a cliver chep am aw.

And if the folks that's i' the house, Cry, 'Haud yor tongue, ye cull!'