The Newcastle Song Book Part 45

T'other day aw was saunt'ring down the New Street, And had turn'd to gan back, when whe should aw meet, Reet plump i' the face, but sage Tommy Rav-ly, Just come frae the council, and looking most gravely.

Wi' Tommy, says aw, what can be the matter?

Your plawd is aw dirt, and your teeth in a chatter; Has your colleagues in office been using a broom, And _sooping the dirt all out of the room_?

Now, James, he replied, Pray don't be prosy, Or sure as you're there, I'll make you quite _nosey_; I've gotten enough to make me look blue, Without being bother'd with plebeians like you.

Just think, when the last time in council we met, We propos'd and appointed our _yellow-hair'd Pet_ To be Justice's clerk, and pocket the fees, For which he came almost plump down on his knees.

But no sooner did we our backs fairly turn, Than they (devil take them!) appointed Swinburne, And laugh'd in their sleeves to think how we'd stare; But James, you must know, they had better beware.

Now, Tommy, says aw, just keep yoursel' aisy, For at present aw'm sure that ye look very crazy; _Make the Quaker your purser, and he'll put ye right, For aw'm sure that the strings he will keep verra tight._

A sixpence he'll make gan as far as a pound, So that will be nineteen and sixpence ye've found; Just leave all to him and W. H. B., And no doubt ye will prosper, as shortly ye'll see.

Now come, let's away to the bonny _Blue Bell_, And there we will drink a quart o' yor yell, And then aw will tell ye what next ye maun de-- But mind ye say nowse 'bout it coming frae me.

He then made a start, but nowt did he say, ('Tween councillor and plebeian, that's may be the way,) Till into the house we fairly did stumble, When, "go cab my lug," he was then verra humble.

Now, Tommy, maw man, aw see nowse that ye've done, But aw hope ye intend to commence verra soon; A market we maun hae, an' at the Brig-end-- A place that old _Jacky_ oft dis recommend--

To save us the fash, and aiblins the pain, Of ganging right o'er unto the High-crane; And mind what I say, if we want ony peace During sermon, on Sunday, oppose the police.

At that he did open his eyes verra wide-- Ah, beggar! aw thought aw'd offended his pride; But nought o' the sort, for he held out his loof-- Now, James, my good fellow, you've said quite enough.

My int'rest, aw'm sure, you always shall hae, And a job aw will get you on the Sabbath-day; For some one at the council this day did propose, That we the dog-fights in Green's Field should oppose.

And Usher was told for to seek out three men, To a.s.sist him on Sundays, and thou shalt be ane; And 'bout what thou wert saying a motion aw'll bring, For, doubtless, 'twill prove a _necessary_ thing.

We thank ye, says aw, but d'ye think that ye're right, In trying to stop us frae seeing a dog-fight; For maw thoughts about liberty it fairly clogs, Yet--_we've barking enough wi' twe-fooled dogs_.

Gateshead, March 1, 1836. Y. S.

THE ELECTION DAY.

Tune--"There's nae Luck about the House."

Ye Freemen all, with heart and voice Your banners wide display-- Bring Hodgson forth, your man of choice, Upon th' Election-day.

Then fill your gla.s.ses, drink your fill, Drink deeply while you may-- With right good-will, we'll drink and swill Upon th' Election-day.

But politics are not the stuff That we care much about-- Nor care, so we get drink enough, Who's in, or who is out.

Then fill your gla.s.ses, drink your fill-- Fill and drink away, And ev'ry one enjoy the fun Upon th' Election-day.

Brave Vulcan is our leader bold, The pride of all good fellows-- He swears the iron shall ne'er grow cold, While he can blow the bellows.

Then fill your gla.s.ses, what's the toast, To drive dull care away?-- 'May ev'ry man be at his post Upon th' Election-day.'

The landlord next appears in view, Our second in command, Encouraging the jovial crew To drink while they can stand.

Then charge your gla.s.ses, n.o.ble souls, The toast without delay-- 'May thirsty souls have flowing bowls Upon th' Election-day.'

Then Hodgson's name aloud proclaim Victoriously that day; While he, in honour of his fame, Will all expences pay.

Then fill your gla.s.ses, what's the toast?

Fill and drink away-- 'May ev'ry man drink all he can Upon th' Election-day.'

W. WATSON

MARY DRUE.

By the late T. HOUSTON[41]

On a pleasant April morning, Wand'ring Tyne's sweet banks along, Spring with flow'rs the fields adorning, Woods and groves with birds of song-- Pensive stray'd I; none was nigh me, When a maid appear'd in view-- Slow she came, or seem'd to fly me-- Heav'ns! 'twas charming Mary Drue.

Long my Mary's charms I gaz'd on, Long I view'd that nymph complete-- Her bright eyes no form were rais'd on, But were downcast at her feet: In her hand a violet blooming Kiss'd the breeze that gently blew, And one robe, with folds presuming, Hid the breast of Mary Drue.

Onward drew the modest maiden, Heav'nly was her gait and air-- Brighter ne'er that meadow stray'd in, Never Tyne saw form so fair: In my breast my heart, wild beating, With redoubled ardour flew; From my tongue all speech retreating, Left me scarce--"dear Mary Drue."

Henry, Henry! have I found you?

(Thus the maid her words address'd,) And with solitude around you, Can my Henry here be bless'd?

Woods and streams may yield a pleasure, But my bliss--'tis all in you-- Love beyond all bounds and measure-- Lov'd at last by Mary Drue!

Told this morn of your disorder, (Love for me the cause believ'd,) Soon I sought this river's border, Where 'tis said you oft have griev'd: On the river's brink I find you-- Pensive, sad, I find you too; Leave the world and wealth behind you-- Thou art worlds to Mary Drue!

Sweet as notes from lutes ascending, To my ear these accents came, Smiles and looks of love attending, Touch'd my soul with gen'rous flame: O'er her charms, disorder'd, stooping-- Rapt'rous sight! divinely new!-- On my breast her head lay drooping, While I clasp'd sweet Mary Drue.

Footnote 41: Thomas Houston died about the year 1802, or 1803. He was the author of a play, ent.i.tled "The Term-day, or Unjust Steward," and of several poems, among which were, "The Progress of Madness," and "A Race to h.e.l.l." In the latter piece were given the portraitures of two notorious corn-factors of that day, belonging to this town.--Houston was a native of Ireland, and by trade a bra.s.s-founder.

OPENING OF THE NEW MARKETS.

Fill up the cup till the ruby o'erflows it, Drown ev'ry care in the nectar's rich stream-- If joy's in the goblet, this day will disclose it, When Trade, Worth, and Beauty, by turns are our theme.

What is, I ask, the toast, Deepest drunk, honour'd most, Drunk most devoutly, most honour'd to-day?

What is the pledge that we Hail first, with three times three?