Part 12

O sons o' Newcassel! free Burgesses a', Ne'er be tempted your freedom to barter; May they hing in tatters to frighten the craws, If ye budge but an inch frae your Charter. If ye send up Sir Tommy to London, M. P. I' the Parliament house to be seated, Ye may just as weel send Captain Starkey[18] up tee, Your glory will then be completed. Let Fame canter on, &c.

Footnote 16: Governor General of the Lunatic House.

Footnote 17: It was reported in the London Papers, that Sir T. B. intended putting up as a Candidate to serve Newcastle in Parliament.

Footnote 18: An eccentric character well known in Newcastle.

WRECKENTON HIRING.

Oh, Lads and Lasses, hither come To Wreckenton, to see the fun, And mind ye bring your Sunday shoon, There'll be rare wark wi' dancing-o. And Lasses now, without a brag, Bring pockets like a fiddle bag, Ye'll get them cramm'd wi' mony a whag Of pepper-kyek an' scranchim-o.

And Bess put on that bonny goon Thy mother bought thou at the toon; That straw-hat wi' the ribbons broon, They'll a' be buss'd that's coming-o: Put that reed ribbon round thy waist, It myeks thou luik sae full o' grace, Then up the lonnen come in haste, They'll think thou's com'd frae Lunnen-o.

Ned pat on his Sunday's coat, His hat and breeches cost a note, With a new stiff'ner round his throat, He luikt the very dandy-o: He thought that he was gaun to choke, For he'd to gyep before he spoke: He met Bess at the Royal Oak, They had baith yell and brandy-o.

Each lad was there wi' his sweetheart, And a' was ready for a start, When in com Jack wi' Fanny Smart, And brought a merry Scraper-o: Then Ned jump'd up upon his feet, And on the table myed a seat; Then bounc'd the Fiddler up a heet, Saying, 'Play and we will caper-o.'

Now Ned and Bess led off the ball, 'Play Smash the windows,' he did call, 'Keep in yor feet,' says Hitchy Mall, Learn'd dancers hae sic prancing-o:' Now Ned was nowther lyeth nor lyem, And faith he had baith bouk and byen, Ye wad thought his feet was myed o' styen, He gav sic thuds wi' dancing-o.

Now Jackey Fanny's hand did seize, Cry'd, 'Fiddler, tune your strings to please!' Play, 'Kiss her weel amang the trees,' She is my darlin', bliss her-o! Then off they set, wi' sic a smack, They myed the joints a' bend and crack: When duen he took her round the neck, And faith he dident miss her-o.

The fiddler's elbow wagg'd a' neet, He thought he wad dropt off his seat, For deil a bit they'd let him eat, They were sae keen o' dancin'-o. Some had to strip their coats for heet, And sarks and shifts were wet wi' sweet! They cramm'd their guts, for want o' meat, Wi' ginger-breed and scranchim-o.

Now cocks had crawn an hour or more, And ower the yell-pot some did snore; But how they luikt to hear the roar Of Matt, the King Pit caller-o! 'Smash him!' says Ned, 'he mun be rang, He's callin' through his sleep, aw's war'n;' Then shootin' to the door he ran-- 'Thou's asleep, thou rousty bawler-o!'

Now they danc'd agyen till it was day, And then went hyem--but, by the way, Some of them had rare fun, they say, And fand it nine months after-o: Such tricks are play'd by heedless youth; And though they're common, north and south, That's nae excuse for breach of truth, Nor food for wit and laughter-o.

Suen Wreckenton will bear the sway, Two Members they'll put in, they say; Then wor Taxes will be duen away, And we'll a' sing now or never-o: Backey and Tea will be sae cheap, Wives will sit up when they sud sleep, And we'll float in yell at wor Pay-week, Then Wreckenton for ever-o.

ON RUSSELL THE PEDESTRIAN,

Who walked 101 miles in 23 hours, 56 minutes, and 30 seconds, on the 25th & 26th of July, 1822, on the Newcastle Race course.

Men's talents vary--for wise ends design'd, _This_ man has strength of body, _that_, of mind; Each his peculiar art assiduous plies, And every maxim of improvement tries, Till he attain perfection by degrees, And learns to execute his task with ease.

Wilson,[19] desist! and Simpson,[20] take your rest! Ease and retirement now will suit ye best; Your brief excursions will excite no more That admiration which they did before; Though doubtless ye have both endeavour'd hard, Perhaps without an adequate reward; But such laborious journies lay aside, And if ye can, instead of walking, _ride_. "Hide your diminish'd heads!" nor vainly talk, Among your friends, how rapidly you walk: First in the annals of Pedestrian fame, Historians now will enter RUSSELL'S name; Where he will most conspicuously shine, And long be hail'd--The Hero of the Tyne. Upon this art he has so much refin'd, That he leaves all competitors behind. With buoyant step we've seen him tread the plain, And hope, ere long, to see him walk again.

Footnote 19: George Wilson, the Blackheath Pedestrian, walked 90 miles in 24 successive hours, on the same ground, on Easter Monday and Tuesday, 1822.

Footnote 20: John Simpson, the Cumberland Pedestrian, attempted to walk 96 miles on the same ground, in the same period of time, on Whit-Monday, and again on the 29th and 30th of July, 1822; in both of which attempts he failed.

ON SIMPSON THE PEDESTRIAN'S FAILURE.

Tune--"Barbary Bell."

Sitting crush'd i' the huddock a' gobbing and talking, We were mov'd wiv a spoke frae the little Pee Dee; Ah! Skipper, he says, the auld man 'ill be walking, So we a' rose together and set off to see. When we gat to the Moor, he was dodging away, man, Wi' twe cheps on each side, keeping a' the folks back; And the bairns running after him, shouting hurra, man, So we just gat a gliff, for he pass'd in a crack.

Now Barney M'Mullin, his reet hand protector, With a sprig o' shilelagh preparing the way, Was stopt on the road by a publican hector, Who hinted that Barney intended foul play. If Barney mov'd forward he threaten'd to drop him, For his walking, he said, put the man off his pace; But Barney concluded he'd ne right to stop him, And call'd him a big-gutted rogue to his face.

Every Freeman, says Barney, of land has a small stock, But to dunch people off is most rascally mean; Then their rights were protected by bold Tommy Alcock, Who said he'd a share of the pasture sae green. When Tommy put on his election-day swagger, His genteel appearance made Barney's tongue cease; His speech was sae pointed, it pierc'd like a dagger: So Barney, poor soul, he departed in peace.

We stopt there a' neet, till weel on i' the morning, Expecting he still wad keep dodging away; But he gav us the double, without ony warning, And hodg'd off the Moor, like a sheep gyen astray. When he enter'd the tent, we were a' sitting drinking, It was thought he had come to get something to eat; But now it appears the poor soul had been thinking On the best ways and means to obtain a retreat.

It seems the auld man had nae notion o' stopping, But as to what ail'd him, he knaws best his sel'; For whether he fail'd in his wind, strength, or bottom, The skipper and I were baith puzzled to tell. But it's owre and deun, so what signifies talking, Poor man, he must just lay his fist to the spade: Let them that think fit make their living by walking, For his part he's fund it's a very bad trade.

The VICTORY;

or, The CAPTAIN DONE OVER.

Tune--"O the golden days of good Queen Bess."

It happen'd very lately, (upon my word 'tis true, sir,) A party at the Peacock supp'd, as I shall shew to you, sir; The names of those I shall disclose, who form'd this happy party, Were Waller Watson, Walton too, both honest blades and hearty; And with them were two friends of theirs, who just had come to town, sir, Hedges and Ingram are their names, both travellers of renown, sir.

They sang and drank, and drank and sang, till time was wearing late, sir, Nor ever thought a moment what that night might be their fate, sir: Near eleven o'clock they sallied out, the night being rather cold, sir, ('Twas on the eighth of April, as we hear the story told, sir,) They felt it not, for friendship's glass had warm'd their hearts within, sir, By drinking brandy, rum, or wine, or eke good Holland's gin, sir.

Watson and Ingram both inclin'd to be a little merry, sir, The others left--to Dean-street they proceeded in a hurry, sir; When Hedges he sung "Fly not yet," why haste ye so away, sir? And Ingram promptly answer'd him, by calling out, "Oh! stay," sir. The _Verges_ of the night were rous'd--demanded why such clatter, sir, What's all this hound-like noise about? come tell us what's the matter, sir.

Then Walton said, "They're friends of mine, and strangers in the place, sir;" But this they disregarded quite, and star'd them in the face, sir. Now Halbert cried out, "Seize them, Ross!--to the watch-house they shall go, sir; And Master Carr will _Kitty_ them, old friendship for to shew, sir." Then to the watch-house they were ta'en triumphantly along, sir, For nothing, as the trial prov'd, but singing Tom Moor's song, sir.

Arriving at the watch-house, where Dogberry sat in state, sir, The watchmen made false charges out, and did so glibly prate, sir; Tom cried out, "What d'ye think of this? No defence will I hear, sir, _My servants_ I will listen to, they've made it plain appear, sir. Off to the _Kitty_ with them, watch, nor grant one short respite, sirs, But see that they're completely fast in durance all the night, sirs."

Ye watchmen, for the future, remember Scarlett's dressing, sirs, The real sound drubbing you've receiv'd may be esteem'd a blessing, sirs: And should you e'er repeat such acts, vile tyrants as you've been, sirs, Scarlett against you may appear, and trim you black and green, sirs. Therefore a warning take in time, leave your infernal tricks, sirs, As you ere this must clearly find, you've kick'd against the pricks, sirs.

THE ALARM!![21]

_Or, Lord Fauconberg's March._

Tune--"Chevy Chace."

God prosper long our noble king, And noblemen also, Who valiantly, with sword in hand, Do guard us from each foe.

No sooner did Lord Fauconberg, With heart undaunted hear, Than news to Gotham had been brought, Which caus'd our Mayor to fear,

Than up he rose, with eyes on fire, Most dreadful to the view: "To arms! to arms!" aloud he cried, And forth his falchion drew.

To arms! to arms! full long and sore The rattling drums did beat: To arms in haste each soldier flies, And scours through every street.

The women shriek and wring their hands, Their children weep around; While some, more wise, fast bolt their doors, And hide them under ground.

The French are at our gates! they cry, And we shall all be slain; For Dumourier is at their head, And that arch-traitor Paine.

In haste drawn up, in fair array, Our Yorkshire Guards are seen; And mounted on a jet black steed, Lord Fauconberg I ween.

And now he gave the word to march, And valiant foremost rode: And now he bounds from side to side-- 'Twas well the streets were broad.

From Newgate down to the Broad-chare They march'd with might and main; Then gallantly they turn'd them round, And so march'd up again.

Now fill a bumper to the brim, And drink to Gotham's Mayor; And when again he hears such news, May Fauconberg be there.

Footnote 21: On the commencement of the impress service, in March, 1793, considerable riots took place at Shields, which were represented, at Newcastle, in a thousand terrific shapes; and a false alarm having been given at the Mansion house, the drums of the York Militia beat to arms; Lord Fauconberg marched that regiment to the house of Rendezvous in the Broad-chare, and then marched back again.

THE HALF-DROWNED SKIPPER.

Air--"Chapter of Donkies."

T'other day up the water aw went in a boat, Aw brush'd up my trowsers, put on my new coat; We steer'd up wor boat 'lang side of a keel, And the luiks o' the Skipper wad frighten'd the Deil. Fol de rol, &c.

So thinks aw, wi' the keel we'll gan a' the way, And hear a few words that the skipper may say, For aw was sure if ought in the keel was deun wrang, The Skipper wad curse, aye, and call every man. Fol de rol, &c.

Now we'd just getten up to the fam'd Skinners' Burn, When the Skipper bawl'd out that the keel was to turn: Wye he shouted and roar'd like a man hung in chains, And swore by the keel he would knock out their brains. Fol de rol, &c.

The little Pee-dee jump'd about on the deck, And the Skipper roar'd out he wad sure smash his neck; "What for?" says the Pee-dee, "can one not speak a word?"-- So he gav him a kick--knock'd him plump owerboard. Fol de rol, &c.

There was nyen o' the bullies e'er lost a bit time, But flung their great keel-huiks splash into the Tyne; They brought up the Pee-dee just like a duck'd craw, And the Skipper, wi' laughin', fell smack ower an' a'. Fol de rol, &c.

Now the keelmen being tired of their Skipper se brave, Not one e'er attempted his life for to save; They hoisted their sail, and we saw no more, But the half-drown'd Skipper was swimming ashore. Fol de rol, &c.

THE NEWCASTLE WORTHIES.

BY WM. ARMSTRONG.

Air--"We've aye been provided for."

The praises o' Newcassel aw've lang wish'd to tell, But now then aw'm determin'd to ha'e a right good spell, An' shew what noted _kiddies_ frae Newcassel town hes flit, For it's a'wis been a canny place, an' sae will it yet.

A chep, they call'd him Scott, he liev'd on the banks o' Tyne, Had a son, that i' the Government he wanted to shine: By degrees the youth he rose up, now Lord Chancellor does sit, And he's fill'd his place reet brawly, aye an' sae will he yet.

Of a' the fine Engravers that grace fair Lunnen toon, Wor Tom Ransom and Bill Harvey bang a' that's up or doon: The praises frae the 'Cademy they constantly do get; For their pieces they've got medals, aye an' sae will they yet.

For boxing tee, the Lunnen cheps we'll thresh them i' their turns; Ony see what science he has lairnt--that noted chep, Jem Burns: Jem Wallace tee, wor champion, how Tommy Dunn he hit, But they both good ones ever were, an' sae will they yet.

A vast mair cliver cheps we ha'e, o' some aw'll let ye knaw; For a strong man, whe could beat bold Airchy wi' his wondrous claw; When six men tuik him in a boat, her bottom suen he split, And the hiding that he ga'e them, they've not forgot it yet.

For fiddling tee, now whe is there wor Blind Willie can beat? Or for dancing whe before Jack Cockson e'er could set their feet? Cull Billy, only try him now, he'll cap ye wi' his wit; He's truly wond'rous, ever was, and sae will he yet.

Bob Cruddace, ah, poor soul! he's deed--he had a cliver knack O' kepping beer, aye three yards off, when he "parish'd the pack!" And Whin Bob 'bout the militia constantly does swet; But by cunningness escap'd them, aye an' sae will he yet.

Jack Nicholson, the noble soul, a deal o' breeding shows, Got a patent frae the King to split sheep heads wi' his nose; The butchers fearing o' disgrace, a job he ne'er cud get-- But the honour's aye been wi' him, aye, an' sae will it yet.

Of Fishwives tee, that's i' wor toon, up to the present day, Euphy Scott she is prime minister to Queen Madgie Gray. The understrappers and descendants maintain that it was fit, She should rule the market as she lik'd, an' sae will she yet.

Captain Starkey, Pussey Willie, and poor Cuddy Reed, Lousy Donald and au'd Judy, poor souls! they've a' gyen deed: But, marrows, keep ye up your hearts, this is not the time to fret, For their memories hae e'er been up, aye an' say will they yet.

_HUMANUM EST ERRARE._

* * * * *

OLD NICK'S VISIT TO H----'S KITCHEN.

Tune--"The King of the Cannibal Islands."

Old Nick, for pastime, took a prance, And to Newcastle did advance; At Grainger's buildings just did glance, And swagger'd away to H----'s Kitchen. The Kitchen soon was in a roar, When Nick exclaim'd--I'll pay the score! So let the drink go round galore-- Which soon laid numbers on the floor:-- Cried Swalwell Pyet--Old Friend, what cheer! We're heartily glad to see you here-- Nick smack'd the ale, and soon turn'd queer Among his friends in the Kitchen.

CHORUS.

Then shout hurrah for Ralph's good ale! O may its virtues never fail-- It made Old Nick to cock his tail, And stagger about in the Kitchen.

In midst of all the noise and din, The merry crew came tumbling in, From Parlour and Cock'd Hat so trim, To join their friend in the Kitchen:-- First Ramsay Jack, the brokers' hack, With G---- and E---- upon his back-- Great Doctor Flash came in a crack!-- Brave Noodle W----n join'd the pack; And from the Vestry, like a rose, Came M----ty with the brandy nose, And B----m dress'd in dandy clothes, To welcome Nick to the Kitchen. Then shout hurrah, &c.

Fam'd H----p acted Crook-back'd Dick, And sung a song to please Old Nick; Jim W----n smoak'd till S----t turn'd sick, And they bundled them out of the Kitchen. Old S----y, too, that gallant tar, Said when on board a man of war, He conquer'd Yankee and Lascar, And knew all countries near and far: Old Nick then gave a dreadful roar, With voice just like the grizzly boar, Brave S----y ran towards the door, And fled half-dead from the Kitchen! Then shout hurrah, &c.

Old Wash C---- with his dirty paws, Sat rubbing up his grim old jaws, And scandalizing without cause, His dearest friend in the Kitchen. Jim Colvin and Ned Mushel smart, Were guzzling beer down by the quart! Old Snuffy Tom well play'd his part, He swigg'd away with all his heart. Old Nick cried, Is my Uncle here? I long to taste of his good cheer!-- A lump of beef did soon appear, And they gobbled it up in the Kitchen! Then shout hurrah, &c.

O hark! cried Nick, the clock strikes one! So midnight's past--I must be gone; When I remount my brimstone throne, I'll oftentimes think of the Kitchen. Ralph D----d said, before we part-- Come, let us have another quart! Bob C----r swears 'twill break his heart, To think you should so soon desert! But Nick still more impatient grew-- At last he bellow'd out--Adieu! And, in a moment, off he flew, 'Mid thund'ring chears from the Kitchen! Then shout hurrah, &c.

On George the Fourth's Coronation.

INVITATION to the MANSION-HOUSE DINNER IN HONOUR OF THE CORONATION.

Air--"Scots wha ha'e wi' Wallace bled."

Men who have with Mayors fed; Men whom oft the Mace hath led; Welcome to your Beef and Bread, Come and feast to-day. See yon Ox's buttocks lower; See yon bags of pudding flour; Shew your masticating power, Teeth and Loyalty.

Who can't eat is sure a knave; Send the scoundrel to his grave; Who can't drink should be a slave; Such we ne'er will be. Who for King and Country's Law Will cut away and stuff his maw, Cans will drain, and corks will draw, Brothers, come with me.

By what's worse than Slavery's chains, Empty stomachs, gripes, and pains, We'll eat and drink, until our veins Swoln like bladders be. See yon lumps of beef laid low, Puddings fall at every blow! Wine in bumpers round shall flow: Brothers, look to me!

THE NEWCASTLE SWINEHERD'S PROCLAMATION

O yes! ye swinish Multitude! To our Newcastle sties repair: Two whole fat beeves are barbecu'd, So go and cram your gorges there.

Your mouths will water at the sight; The oose your unshav'd chops run down; Your dirty sleeves away will dight The slobber of tobacco brown.

With cart-grease basted, dredg'd with dust, The outsides burnt, the insides raw, Next to some tit bit carrion must Delight a hog's voracious maw.

Hey! to the Pants, where dribbling wine And brewer's rot-gut beer distil; With speed let every greedy swine Swig what he can--aye, swig his fill.

Then to your grov'ling nature true, Return to wallow in the mire; And let the Corporate body view The consummation they require.

Swineherds expect the brutes that run To guzzle at their garbage feast, Should compensate, and make them fun; So hogs come on and play the beast!

"And grunt, ye pigs, with savage joy, While stuffing full your craving maws, Nor care if staves your skulls annoy, But quickly move your greedy jaws.

While guzzling down your wishy-wash, Squeak loud with _make-believe_ affection; And in the puddle kick and splash, Nor shew one sign of disaffection.

Then, all ye lordly herds laugh loud, And shake your portly paunches fine; Shew to your dames the rabble crowd-- And having pray'd, retire to dine.

Then tell how the voracious pigs, With greedy spite press'd to the _trow_, And gave each other loyal digs, Nor car'd for e'er a waddling sow.

Next sagely argue o'er your wine, This crew, debas'd beyond compare, In fact and reason are true swine, Unlike Corinthian Pillars fair."[22]

_Pigstye Court, Sandhill, 12th July, 1821._

Footnote 22: The Rich were called the "Corinthian Pillars of Society" by the pensioner Burke; while he termed the Industrious Classes the "Swinish Multitude."

THE GOLDEN HORNS;

_Or, The General Invitation_.

Come, neighbours, to Robson's let's all hie away, To see the Ox crown'd with ribbons so gay: His horns are well gilded, his head bright does shine, We'll soon get a slice and a horn full of wine.

Some come from afar, as did wise men of old, To see our King's head branch'd out thus with gold. Success, then, to horns, when they're gilded so clever; May the ... wear horns, and wear them for ever.

In praise then of horns let all Newcastle sing; For he who scorns horns despises his ... Let them boast of their garters, and boast of their stars, But horns are far better than honours or scars.

Never blush for your horns, then, though low be your station, Since horns are the pride of the _Chief_ of our nation. Let them make Lords and Dukes, crown an _Ass_, if they will, The order of Horns let it be my theme still.

LOYAL FESTIVITIES;

_Or, Novel Scenes at Newcastle_.

A POPULAR SONG IN THE NEW FARCE OF THE CORONATION,

As it was performed at Newcastle upon Tyne, on Thursday, July 19th, 1821.

Sung by the "Swinish Multitude," in full Chorus.

The Castle guns were fir'd, and loud The bells rang in the morning, To wake the "Swinish Multitude," And give the public warning: That, "as in duty bound," the Mayor, And loyal Corporation, Would celebrate, in civic state, The day of Coronation!

With matchless liberality, The sums of money voted, That loyalty might be thereby Among the herd promoted: A feast would loyalize the brutes, Upon this great occasion, And make them sing, God save the King! At George's Coronation.