The Newcastle Song Book Part 2

To Tynemouth then aw thowt aw'd trudge, To see the folks a' duckin; Loak! men an' wives together pludg'd, While hundreds stuid by leukin.

Amang the rest aw cowp'd me creels, Eh, gox! 'twas funny, vurry: An' so aw end me voyage to s.h.i.+els, Iv Jemmy Joneson's Whurry.

THE SKIPPER'S WEDDING.

Neighbours, I'm come for to tell ye, Our Skipper and Mall's to be wed; And if it be true what they're saying, Egad we'll be all rarely fed!

They've brought home a shoulder of mutton, Besides two thumping fat geese, And when at the fire they're roasting, We're all to have sops in the greese.

Blind w.i.l.l.y's to play on the fiddle.

And there will be pies and spice dumplings, And there will be bacon and peas; Besides a great lump of beef boiled, And they may get crowdies who please; To eat of such good things as these are, I'm shure you've but seldom the luck; Besides for to make us some pottage, There'll be a sheep's head and pluck.

Blind w.i.l.l.y's to play on the fiddle.

Of sausages there will be plenty, Black puddings, sheep fat, and neats' tripes; Besides, for to warm all your noses, Great store of tobacco and pipes.

A room, they say, there is provided For us at 'The Old Jacob's Well;'

The bridegroom he went there this morning, And spoke for a barrel o' yell.

Blind w.i.l.l.y's to play on the fiddle.

There's sure to be those things I've mention'd, And many things else; and I learn, There's white bread and b.u.t.ter and sugar, To please every bonny young bairn.

Of each dish and gla.s.s you'll be welcome To eat and to drink till you stare; I've told you what meat's to be at it, I'll next tell you who's to be there.

Blind w.i.l.l.y's to play on the fiddle.

Why there will be Peter the hangman, Who flogs the folks at the cart-tail, Au'd Bob, with his new sark and ruffle, Made out of an au'd keel sail!

And Tib on the Quay who sells oysters, Whose mother oft strove to persuade Her to keep from the lads, but she wouldn't, Until she got by them betray'd.

Blind w.i.l.l.y's to play on the fiddle.

And there will be Sandy the cobbler, Whose belly's as round as a keg, And Doll, with her short petticoats, To display her white stockings and leg; And Sall, who, when snug in a corner, A sixpence, they say, won't refuse; She curs'd when her father was drown'd, Because he had on his new shoes.

Blind w.i.l.l.y's to play on the fiddle.

And there will be Sam the quack doctor, Of skill and profession he'll crack; And Jack who would fain be a soldier, But for a great hump on his back; And Tom in the streets, for his living, Who grinds razors, scissors, and knives; And two or three merry old women, That call "Mugs and doublers, wives!"

Blind w.i.l.l.y's to play on the fiddle.

But neighbours, I'd almost forgot, For to tell ye--exactly at one, The dinner will be on the table, The music will play till it's done: When you'll be all heartily welcome, Of this merry feast for to share; But if you won't come at this bidding, Why then you may stay where you are.

Blind w.i.l.l.y's to play on the fiddle.

THE AMPHITRITE.

Frae Team-Gut to Whitley, wi' coals black and brown, For the Amphitrite loaded, the keel had gyen down; But the bullies ower neet gat their gobs sae oft wet, That the nyem of the s.h.i.+p yen and a' did forget.

For to find out the nyem each bother'd his chops, And claw'd at his rump fit to murder the lops,-- When the Skipper, wha's guts was beginning to gripe, Said the paw hoggish luggish was caw'd Empty Kyte.

Frae the Gut to the Point a' the time driving slow, The bullies kept blairing, 'The Empty Kyte, ho!'

But their blairing was vain, for nae Empty Kyte there, Tho' they blair'd till their kytes were byeth empty & sair.

Now au'd Slavers, the Skipper, harangu'd a' his men, Twee mun gan to Newca.s.sel to ax the reet nyem; But thinking the young one to blame in the matter, Pee Dee and his Marrow was pack'd 'cross the watter.

Up s.h.i.+elds Road as they trudg'd, wi' their half worn out soals, Oft b----r--g the Empty Kyte, Skipper, and coals, At the sign of the Coach they byeth call'd, it befel, To moan their hard fates, and to swattle some yell.

Here a buck at a surloin hard eating was seen, And he said that the air myed his appet.i.te keen;-- 'Appet.i.te!' cried the bullies, like pole-cats they star'd, Wide gaping wi' wonder, when loud Cuddy blair'd,

'The Appet.i.te! Geordy, smas.h.!.+ n.o.bbet hear that, The b----r--g outlandish, cull nyem we forgat; Bless the Dandy! for had he not tell'd us the nyem, We might trudg'd to Newca.s.sel byeth weary and lyem.'

Now to s.h.i.+elds back they scamp, & straight frae the keel Roar'd 'The Appet.i.te, ho!' 'neugh to freighten the deil; Now they seun fund the s.h.i.+p, cast their coals in a swet, Still praising the Dandy that day they had met.

Now into the huddock, weel tir'd, they a' gat, And of Appet.i.te, Empty Kyte, lang they did chat; When the Skipper fund out, mair wise than a king, If not the same nyem, they were much the same thing.

MY LORD 'SIZE.

The Jailor, for trial, had brought up a thief, Whose looks seem'd a pa.s.sport for Botany Bay; The lawyers, some with and some wanting a brief, Around the green table were seated so gay: Grave jurors and witnesses, waiting a call: Attornies and clients, more angry than wise, With strangers and town's-people, throng'd the Guild-hall, All waiting gaping to see my Lord 'Size.

Oft stretch'd were their necks, oft erected their ears, Still fancying they heard of the trumpets the sound, When tidings arriv'd, which dissolv'd them in tears, That my Lord at the dead-house was then lying drown'd!

Straight left _tete a tete_ were the jailor and thief; The horror-struck crowd to the dead-house quick hies; Ev'n the lawyers, forgetful of fee and of brief, Set off, helter-skelter, to view my Lord 'Size.

And now the Sandhill with the sad tidings rings, And the tubs of the taties are left to take care; Fish-women desert their crabs, lobsters, and lings, And each to the dead-house now runs like a hare.

The gla.s.smen, some naked, some clad, heard the news, And off they ran smoking, like hot mutton-pies; Whilst Castle-garth Tailors, like wild Kangaroos, Came tail-on-end jumping, to see my Lord 'Size.

The dead-house they reach'd, where his Lords.h.i.+p they found, Pale, stretch'd on a plank, like themselves out of breath; The Coroner and Jury were seated around, Most gravely enquiring the cause of his death.

No haste did they seem in, their task to complete, Aware that from hurry mistakes often rise; Or wishful, perhaps, of prolonging the treat Of thus sitting in judgment upon my Lord 'Size.

Now the Mansion-house Butler thus gravely depos'd:-- 'My Lord on the terrace seem'd studying his charge; And when (as I thought) he had got it compos'd, He went down the stairs and examin'd the barge.

First the stem he survey'd, then inspected the stern, Then handled the tiller, and look'd mighty wise; But he made a false step when about to return, And souse in the water straight tumbled Lord 'Size.'

Now his narrative ended--the Butler retir'd.

Whilst Betty Watt mutt'ring (half drunk) thro' her teeth, Declar'd, 'In her breest greet consarn it inspir'd, That my Lord should sae cullishly come by his deeth.'

Next a keelman was call'd on, Bold Archy his name, Who the book as he kiss d shew'd the whites of his eyes, Then he cut an odd caper, attention to claim, And this evidence gave them respecting Lord 'Size:--

'Aw was setting the keel, wi' d.i.c.k Stavers and Matt, An' the Mansion-house stairs we were just alangside, When we a' three see'd somethin, but didn't ken what, That was splas.h.i.+ng and labbering about i' the tide.

It's a fluiker, ki d.i.c.k; No, ki Matt, it's owre big, It luik'd mair like a skyet when aw furst seed it rise: Kiv aw--for aw'd gettin a gliff o' the wig-- Ods marcy! wey, marrows, becrike, it's Lord 'Size!

Sae aw huik'd him, and haul'd him suin into the keel, And o' top o' the huddock aw rowl d him aboot; An' his belly aw rubb'd, an' a skelp'd his back weel, But the water he'd drucken it wadn't run oot.

Sae I brought him ash.o.r.e here, an' doctors, in vain, Furst this way, then that, to recover him tries; For ye see there he's lying as deed as a stane, An' that's a' aw can tell ye about my Lord 'Size.'

Now the Jury for close consultation retir'd: Some '_Death Accidental_' were willing to find; Some '_G.o.d's Visitation_' most eager requir'd, And some were for '_Fell in the River_' inclin'd: But ere on their verdict they all were agreed, My Lord gave a groan, and wide open'd his eyes; Then the coach & the trumpeters came with great speed, And back to the Mansion-house carried Lord 'Size.

CAPPY, OR THE PITMAN'S DOG.