The Newcastle Song Book Part 54

THE TYNE.

Tune--"Banks and Braes o' bonny Doon."

Clear crystal Tyne, sweet smiling stream, Gay be the flow'rs thy banks along, For there the darling of my theme Oft sports thy verdant meads among.

Flow on, sweet Tyne, and gently glide, And pour thy commerce o'er the main, May Plenty o'er thy banks preside, To bless thee with her smiling train.

Green be thy fields, Britannia dear, With plenty flowing o'er thy land, But chief the banks of Tyne, for there I'll often rove, at Love's command,-- There meet my la.s.s upon the green, And flow'ry garlands for her twine, While smiling pleasure glads the scene, Upon the blooming banks of Tyne.

J. WILSON

THE NEWCASTLE OLD COUNTRY GENTLEMAN.

Air--"Old Country Gentleman."

From wand'ring in a distant land, An exile had return'd, And when he saw his own dear stream, His heart with pleasure burn'd; The days departed, and their joys, Came bounding to his breast, And thus the feelings of his heart In native strains confess'd:--

Tune--"The Keel Row."

Flow on, majestic river, Thy rolling course for ever,-- Forget thee will I never, Whatever fate be mine:

Oft on thy banks I've wander'd, And on thy beauties ponder'd, Oh! many an hour I've squander'd On thy banks, O bonny Tyne!

Flow on, &c.

O Tyne! in thy bright flowing, There's magic joy bestowing; I feel thy breezes blowing-- Their perfume is divine.

Flow on, &c.

I've sought thee in the morning, When crimson clouds are burning, And thy green hills adorning-- The hills o' bonny Tyne.

Flow on, &c.

When stormy seas were round me, And distant nations bound me, In memory still I found thee A ray of hope divine.

Flow on, &c.

Thy valleys lie before me, Thy trees are waving o'er me, My home thou dost restore me On thy bonny banks, O Tyne!

Flow on, &c.

WALKER PITS.

Tune--"Off she goes."

If I had another penny, I would have another gill-- I would make the fiddler play "The bonny Lads of Byker-hill."

Byker-hill and Walker-sh.o.r.e, Collier lads for evermore!

Byker-hill and Walker-sh.o.r.e, Collier lads for evermore!

When aw cam to Walker wark, Aw had ne coat, nor ne pit sark; But now aw've getten twe or three-- Walker pit's deun weel for me.

Byker-hill and Walker-sh.o.r.e, Collier lads for evermore!

Byker-hill and Walker-sh.o.r.e, Collier lads for evermore!

BEGGAR'S WEDDING.

Air--"Quayside Shaver."

When timber-legg'd Harry crook'd Jenny did marry In fam'd Gateshead town--and, not thinking of blows, Three ragmen did quarrel about their apparel, Which oft-times affrighted both small birds and crows; This resolute prial, fought on battle royal, Till Jenny spoke this, with hump back and sharp s.h.i.+ns: "Be loving as brothers, as well as the others, Then we shall get orders for needles and pins!"

The bride-maid, full breasted, she vow'd and protested, She never saw men at a wedding so rude; Old Madge, with her matches, top full of her catches, Swore she would be tipsy e'er they did conclude; The supper being ended, some part still contended For wholesome malt liquor to fill up each skin; Jack Tar, in his jacket, sat close to Doll Flacket, And swore he'd drink nothing but grog and clear gin.

Black Jack with his fiddle they fix'd in the middle, Who had not been wash'd since the second of June-- Old Sandy, the piper, told Ned he would stripe her, If she wouldn't dance while his pipe was in tune: They play'd them such touches, with wood-legs and crutches-- Old rag-pokes and matches, old songs flew about; Poor Jack being a stranger, thought his Scratch in danger, He tenderly begg'd they would give up the rout.

Jack being thus ill-treated, he begg'd to be seated Upon an old cupboard the landlord had got,-- Like madmen enchanted, they tippled and ranted, Till down came the fiddler, as if he'd been shot.

They drank gin by noggins, and strong beer by flaggons, Till they had sufficiently loosen'd each hide, Then those that were able, retir'd to the stable, And slept with their nose in each other's backs--e.

DO LI A.

_Sung in Newcastle about the Years 1792-3-4._

Fresh I'm come frae Sandgate-street, Do li, do li, My best friends here to meet, Do li a.

Do li th' dil len dol--do li, do li, Do li th' dil len dol--do li a.

The Black-cuffs are gawn away, Do li, do li, And that will be a crying day, Do li a, &c.

Dolly c.o.xon's p.a.w.n'd her sark, Do li, do li, To ride upon the baggage-cart, Do li a, &c.

The Green-cuffs are coming in, Do li, do li, An' that 'll make the la.s.ses sing, Do li a, &c.

A SOUTH s.h.i.+ELDS SONG.