The Newcastle Song Book Part 8

The man a' this time the great blether was filling, Wiv stuff that wad myed a dog sick, It smelt just as though they were garvage distilling, Till at length it was full as a tick.

They next strain'd the ropes to keep the thing steady, Put colley and drams iv the boat; Then crack went the cannon, to say it was ready, An' aw see'd the blether afloat.

Not a word was there heurd, a' eyes were a starin, For the off ganen moment was near: To see sic a crowd se whisht was amazen, Aw thowt aw fand palish and queer.

After waitin a wee, aw see'd him come to, Shaken hands, as aw thowt, wiv his friend; Of his mountin the corf aw had a full view, As he sat his ways down at the end.

The ropes were then cut, and upwards he went, A wavin his flag i' the air; Ev'ry heed was turn'd up, and a' eye's wur intent On this comical new flying chair: It went it's ways up like a lavrick sae hee, Till it luckt 'bout the size of a skyate; When in tiv a cloud it was lost t' the e'e, Aw wisht the man better i' fate.

BOB CRANKY'S ADIEU.

Fareweel, fareweel, maw comely pet!

Aw's forc'd three weeks to leave thee; Aw's doon for _par'ment duty_ set, O dinna let it grieve thee!

Maw hinny! wipe them een, sae breet, That mine wi' love did dazzle; When tha' heart's sad can mine be leet?

Come, ho'way get a gill o' beer, Thee heart te cheer: An' when thou sees me mairch away, Whiles in, whiles oot O' step, nae doot, 'Bob Cranky's gane,' thou'lt sobbing say, 'A sowgering to Newca.s.sel!'

Come, dinna, dinna whinge an' whipe, Like yammering Isbel Macky; Cheer up, maw hinny! leet thee pipe, An' tyek a blast o' backy!

It's but for yen an' twenty days, The folks's een aw'll dazzle.-- Prood, swagg'ring i' maw fine reed claes: Ods heft! maw pit claes--dis thou hear?

Are wa.r.s.e o' wear; Mind cloot them weel, when aw's away; An' a posie goon Aw'll buy thee soon, An' thou's drink thy tea--aye, twice a-day, When aw c.u.m frae Newca.s.sel.

Becrike! aw's up tiv every rig, Sae dinna doot, maw hinny!

But at the _blue styen_ o' the Brig Aw'll hae maw mairchin ginny.

A guinea! wuks! sae strange a seet Maw een wi' joy wad dazzle; But aw'll hed spent that varry neet For money, hinny! ower neet to keep, Wad brick maw sleep: Sae, smas.h.!.+ aw think't a wiser way, Wi' flesh an' beer Mesel to cheer, The lang three weeks that aw've to stay A sowgering at Newca.s.sel.

But whisht! the Sairjeant's tongue aw hear, 'Fa' in! fa' in!' he's yelpin: The fifes are whusslin loud and clear, And sair the drums they're skelpin.

Fareweel, maw comely! aw mun gang The Gen'ral's een to dazzle!

But, hinny! if the time seems lang, An' thou freets about me neet and day; Then come away, Seek out the yell-house where aw stay, An' we'll kiss and cuddle; An' mony a fuddle Sall drive the langsome hours away, When sowgering at Newca.s.sel.

THE MAYOR OF BOURDEAUX;

_Or, Mally's Mistake._

As Jackey sat lowsin his b.u.t.tons, And rowlin his great backey chow, The bells o' the toon 'gan to tinkle; Cries Mally, What's happen'd us now?

Ho! jump and fling off thy au'd neet-cap, And slip on thy lang-quarter'd shoes, Ere thou gets hauf way up the Key, Ye'll meet sum that can tell ye the news.

Fol de rol, &c.

As Mally was puffin an' runnin, A gentleman's flonkey she met; 'Canny man, ye mun tell us the news, Or ye'll set wor au'd man i' the pet.'

The Mayor of Bourdeaux, a French n.o.ble, Has com'd to Newca.s.sel with speed: To neet he sleeps sound at wor Mayor's, And to morn he'll be at the Queen's Heed.

Fol de rol, &c.

Now Mally thank'd him wiv a curtsey, And back tiv her Jackey did prance: 'Mary Mordox, a fine Fitter's Leydy's Com'd ower in a coble frae France.'

'Mary Mordox, a fine Fitter's Leydy!

Ise warrant she's some frolicksome jade, And com'd to Newca.s.sel for fas.h.i.+ons, Or else to suspect the Coal Trade.'

Fol de rol, &c.

So to Peter's thou's gan i' the mornin, Gan suin an' thou'll get a good pleyce; If thou canna get haud of her paw, Thou mun get a guid luick at her fyece: And if ye can but get a word at her, And mind now ye divent think shem, Say, 'Please, ma'm, they ca' my wife Mary, Wor next little bairn's be the syem.'

Fol de rol, &c.

So betimes the next mornin he travels, And up to the Queen's Head he goes, Where a skinny chep luik'd frev a winder, Wi' white powther'd wig an' lang nose: A fine b.u.t.terflee coat wi' gowld b.u.t.tons, A' man! how the folks did hurro; Aw thowt he'd fled from some toy-shop i' Lunnin, Or else frae sum grand wax-work show.

Fol de rol, &c.

Smas.h.!.+ Mally, ye've tell'd a big lee, For a man's not a woman, aw'll swear: But he hardly had spoken these words, Till out tumbled a cask o' strang beer: Like a cat Jackey flang his leg ower, Ay, like Bacchus he sat at his ease, Tiv aw's fuddled, odsmas.h.!.+ ye may tauk Yor French gabberish as lang as ye please.

Fol de rol, &c.

They crush'd sair, but Jack never minded, Till wi' liquor he'd lowsen'd his bags; At last a great thrust dang him ower, He lay a' his lang length on the flags: Iv an instant Mall seiz'd his pea jacket, Says she, is thou drunk, or thou's lyem?

The Mayors o' wor box! smash, aw'm fuddled!

O Mally, wilt thou lead me hyem.

Fol de rol, &c.

SWALWELL HOPPING.

Lads! myek a ring, An' hear huz sing The sport we had at Swalwell, O; Wor merry play.

O' the Hoppen day, Ho'way, marrows! an' aw'll tell ye, O.

The sun s.h.i.+nes warm on Whickham bank, Let's a' lie doon at Dolly's, O; An' hear 'bout mony a funny prank, Play'd by the lads at Crowley's, O.

There was Sam, O zoons!

Wiv's pantaloons, An' gravat up ower his gobby, O; An' w.i.l.l.y, thou, Wi' the jacket blue, Thou was the varry Bobby, O: There was knack knee'd Mat, wiv's purple suit, An' hopper-a-s'd d.i.c.k, a' yellow, O: Great Tom was there, wi' H----ple's au'd coat, An' buck-sheen'd Bob frae Stella, O.

When we wor drest, It was confest We shem'd the cheps frae Newca.s.sel, O: So away we set To wor toon gyet, To jeer them a' as they pa.s.s'd us, O: We shouted some, and some dung down; Lobstrop'lus fellows, we kick'd them, O: Some culls went hyem, some crush'd to toon, Some gat aboot by Whickham, O.

The spree com on-- The hat was won By carrot-pow'd Jenny's Jackey, O: What a fyace, begok!

Had muckle-mouth'd Jock, When he twin'd his jaws for the backy, O!

The kilted la.s.ses fell tid, pell mell, Wi' 'Talli-i-o the grinder,' O-- The smock was gi'en to slavering Nell, Ye'd dropp'd had ye been behind her, O.

Wor dance began Wi' buck-tyuth'd Nan, An' Geordy, thou'd Jen Collin, O; While the merry Black, Wi' mony a crack, Set the tamboureen a rolling, O.

Like wor forge-hammer we bet sae true, An' shuk Raw's house sae soundly, O: Tuff canna c.u.m up wi' Crowley's Crew, Nor thump the tune sae roundly, O.

Then Gyetside Jack, Wiv's b.l.o.o.d.y back, Wad dance wi' goggle-eye'd Mally, O: But up cam Nick An' gav him a kick, And a canny bit kind of a fally, O: That day a' Hawks's Blacks may rue,-- They gat mony a varry sair clanker, O: Can they de owse wi' Crowley's Crew, Frev a needle tiv an anchor, O?

What's that to say To the bonny fray We had wi' skipper Robin, O?

The keel bullies a', Byeth greet an' sma', Myed a b----rly tide o' the hoppen, O.

Gleed Will cried, _Ma-a_! up lup au'd Frank, An' Robin, that marry'd his dowter, O: We hammer'd their ribs like an anchor shank; They fand it six weeks efter, O.

Bald pyat Jone Carr Wad hev a bit spar, To help his marrows away wid, O; But poor au'd fellow, He'd getten ower mellow, So we doon'd byth him and Davy, O: Then Petticoat Robin jump'd up agyen, Wiv's gully to marcykree huz a'

But Willanton Dan laid him flat wiv a styen: Hurrah! for Crowley's Crew, boys, a'!

Their hash was sattled, So off they rattled, An' we jigg'd it up sae hearty, O.

Wi' mony a s.h.i.+ver, An' lowp sae cliver, Can Newca.s.sel turn out sic a party, O?