WOR GEORDEY'S WELCUM TE GARIBALDI.

(Written on hearing that he intended te visit Newcassel.)

WELCOME! maw canny hinny, a hundrid thoosand million times welcum l yor as welcum as the flooers i' May.

It's mony a lang day since aw saw ye noo hinny, whole ten years since, bless me, it just lucks like the day afore yisterday.

Ye've gyen throo a storm 0' trouble since then, hinny;-ye've been cast on the billows ov advorsity, an' thrawn aside wi' the waves ov

ingratitude,-but ye'll pull throo, maw pet,-thor's a gud time cummin, when aw hope we'll see ye seated on the shores ov peace,

cumfort, an' happiness. This piece 0' poatry doon belaw's a Double Acrostic: read the letters doonwards

Glorious Garibaldi, noble, brave, an' just,

W undorous gem 0' fame, byeth gud an' true,

A man, iv ivry sense a Man, the world may trust,

E ndear'd tiv honest hearts, the world a' throo;

R ear'd i'sad hardship's scheul, 'mang weary toil an' pain,

L ay for a time aside yor warlike arts,

I mmortal patriot, the wretched tyrant's bane,

C urn rest ye for awhile 'mang Tyneside hearts!

B right be that happy day ye visit Coaly Tyne,

O ppresshun's foe, the star 0' freedom's cawse,

A nxshussly aw wait, an' think ov "auld lang syne,"

M yed dearer since ye've gain'd the world's applawse.

L ang, lang hey aw thowt that awd live to see the day,

E lated, we'll myek glad the joyful morn,

D evoted te the last, we'll strive te cheer yor stay,

I' this, the gallant hero's grand return !

WOR PEG'S INVITAYSHUN!

NOT ACCEPTED.

MISTOR GARIBALDI,-Aw's sure aw feel just like as if thor wes

sumthing stickin i' me throat, when aw sit doon to write aboot ye

taw spoilt five sheets 0' paper afore aw started), aw's that pleased

yor cummin back te the" canny toon,"-aw hevent forgot ye,

thor's ne fear 0' that, if aw leeve te the dayaw dee aw'll nivvor

 forget ye. Ye've myed gud use 0' the sword ye got the last time ye

 wor here, Mistor; a lang way mair than war Geordey's deun wi'

his-he's i' the horse noodles, ye knaw, sor. Aw suppose yor gan

up te Stella te see war canny frind, Mr. Cowen,-ye might call at wor hoose,

an' get yor tea, aw's sure yor welcum ;-dinnet be frighten'd, it's war Geordey's

pay, an' aw'll heh sum fine spice kyeck reddy, myed on purpose. Aw bowt a new set 0' Cheeny

 last Seturday neet, an' aw can myek a cup a' tea as gud as me

neybors, an' that's sumthing te say. If ye bring Mr. Cowen wi' ye,

 aw can borrow a chair or two ov Mistress Scott, next door; thor's

plenty room for two,-be sure an' cum.

N.B.-Wor Geordey weers nowt but reed sharts,

DISAPPOINTMENT-FAREWEEL TO GARIBALDI.

BAD news aw've heard, flee varry fast,

An' disappointments fond hopes blast,

An' myek us greeve for joys gyen past,

Wi' breest full sair; The news that ye had tyekin bad,

An' order'd hyem,-myed hearts se glad

Dejected, weary, sair an' sad, Wi' grim despair.

But truth cums oot,-thor's been foul play,

An' them that myed se short yor stay,

Aw hope may leeve te rue the day,

An' get a thraw! Fareweel I-tho ye gan ower the sea,

They cannet tyek wor luv frae ye!

Wi' acts like these-if England's free, Aw'll haud me jaw!

.

RENFORTH, THE CHAMPEIN.

TEUN-" the Postman's Knock."

TYNESIDE'S lang been fam'd for producin greet men,

Luck at Airmstrang an' Stivvison, tee,

An' Grainger that myed wor fine toon what it is,

An' its bildins thor grand ye'll agree;

But the bildin 0' boats an' boat pullin's wor pride,

An' where, always we try hard te shine,

An' Renforth, a brave hardy Son 0' the North's

Browt the Champeinship back te the Tyne,

Korus.

Then lang may success an' gud hilth combine

Wi' Renforth, the Champein 0' Thames an' the Tyne.

We lost poor Bob Chambers, then sadly we greev'd,

Thor wes nyen but what liked Honest Bob,

An' we sigh'd for anuther te fillup he's place,

Tho' we knew twes a difficult job,

Till Renforth com oot like the man that he is,

For the honour 0' canny Tyneside,

An' te stop him frae tyekin Bob Chambers's place,

The whole world he bravely defied!

Then a challinse wes sent, an' a match thor wes myed

Wi' the best Lundun Champein thor's been,

That's brave Harry Kelley, the Pride 0' the Thames,

An' a finer race nivor wes seen;

For wi' confidence pictor'd on each manly broo,

The North an' the South meet agyen,

Thor ready!-thor offl-then the struggle begins,

As the crood roar an' cheer for thor men.

Incorridg'd be cheers frae thor frinds all aroond,

Thor byeth strivin hard for the leed,

An' then the North Countrymen shoot wi' delight,

As they see thor pet forgin aheed,

Tho Kelley, as game as man ivor can be,

Spurts hard te catch Jimmy, but nay!

The Tynesider's there wi' byeth corridge an' skill,

Ay, an' strength tee te leed a' the way.

The Champeinship's wun, an' it's browt te the Tyne,

A river myed famous wi' men

Like Chambers, the Claspers, Bob Cooper, besides

Jimmy Taylor, an' Perey,-so then

Gud luck te Jim Renforth, lang may he maintain

The honour he noo hauds wi' pride;

An' gud luek tiv his trainer, Jim Taylor, as weel,

An' the boat-pullers a' roond Tyneside !

THE DANCIN HELD AT GYETSID!

TEUN-"Siventeen cum Sunday."

THOR wes Mistress Taylor's club broke up,

An' it eawsed a greet sensayshun,

So what de ye think she did, me lads,

But send us an invitayshun,

For Tom an' me te join the spree,

I' the danein held at Gyetsid!

Korus.

When se happy on the floor, the jiggin doon the shore,

Wes nowt te the dancin held at Gyetsid.

Thor wes lang-leg'd Billy wiv a broken flute,

What a swell wi' two brass rings on,

An' Geordey, the tailor, went serapin aboot,

On a fiddle wi' just three strings on,

Whey, a jarmin band eud hardly stand

Wi' the band that play'd at Gyetsid.

But they say that it's daft te turn oot wise

When igorance shud be bliss, lads,

 So as Geordey an' Bill wes reckind forst-rate,

Gud music wes nivor miss'd, lads,

Ay, an' Davie Dunn swore ivry teun

Wes the best he'd heard i' Gyetsid.

Thor wes Charley, the blacksmith, prood asa lord,

Drest up iv his Sunday's fustin;

Ay, an' Mary the tripe wife, twenty styen,

Aw wes frighten'd she'd be brustin,

But they yell'd hooray! as she danced away,

Like a two-eer aud at Gyetsid.

Thor wes ne dispute aboot whe wes the belle,

Or they diddent care whe browt her,

"We can think te wor-sels that wara' fine belles,"

Says Janey, the cobbler's dowter.

An' they a' did weel i' byeth sylph an' reel,

l' the dancin held at Gyetsid.

Then the Ianlord, a real gud-temper'd sowl,

Sent a gud supply 0' beer in,

An' they lafft an' chafft as the beer they quafft,

For they needed nowt mair cheerin;

Whey ye'd thowt the fun wad nivor been deun,

l' the Pea Straw dance at Gyetsid!

LOSSIN THE LICENCE!

TEUN-" The Uppur Ten."

THE leets burn'd dimly i' the bar,

The lanlord wassent there,

The tyeble wes a' thick 0' dart,

The koonter had its share;

An' ivrything luckt oat 0' place,

The lanlady her-sel

Wes fair dooncast, an' frev her lips

This doleful ditty felI

Korus.

" Thor's nowt on orth me heart te cheer,

Me heart te cheer, aw'm wretched here,

For thor issent a thing i' the hoose but beer,

Throo wor Geordey wi' lossin the Licence!

"This used te be a peaceful port,

But noo life's bitter here,

Me temper once wes sweet an' mild,

But noo aw cannet beer

The thowts that myek us w(h)ine a' day,

Me sporrits thor se law,

The Rector cannot keep the hoose,

An' the baccy is ne draw.

"The beer 'iIllike the trade turn flat,

Wor nearly sure te fail,

We'll need sum good supporters,

As we heh nowt else but ale,'

The glasses they'll a' gan tepot,

Then bottled up we'll be,

Aw find aw'm not near half as stoot,

It's ne sham pain wi' me !

"The sellors nearly empy noo,

An' buyers very rare,

It's rum te think such changes cum,

Such dull times issent fair

An' Geordey, like the sheep he is,

He's gyen upon the spree,

Aw'll punch his heed te think he'd leeve

An ail-in wife like me.

"It's true they fined him once or twice,

Or twice or thrice or mair,

Ye'd thowt twad been a cawshun,

But wor Geordey diddent care;

An'throo a quairt 0' penny beer,

Wor trade an' Licence's gyen,

He diddent treat the Bobbies wee!,

Or they'd lettin him alyen !

THE DEETH 0' BOB CHAMBERS!

AIR-" Come into my Cabin, Red Robin."

l' THE gloom thor's aroond bonny Tyneside,

'Mang the greef that's se bad te contain,

When all honest hearts mourn for thor champien,

Wi' breests fill'd wi' sadness an' pain,

Aw'll sing i' the praise 0' Bob Chambers,

The manliest, the gamest, an' true.

He's alive i' the hearts ova' Tyneside,

Tho we've lost wor poor " Honest Bob" noo.

Fareweel te the days when Bob Chambers

Wes wor idol, wor pet, an' wor pride,

When he set the whole world at defiance-

Brave champein 0' canny Tyneside.

When aw think ov his'sowl-storrin races,

Aw can hardly believe that he's gyen

l' the prime ov his life;-hoo Deeth's hurried,

-But thor's LIFE still iv Honest Bob's nyem.

Fareweel te the canny Bob Chambers,

A man for his honesty famed;

Strite-forward, an' kind, noble-hearted,

Wor champein such qualities c1aim'd.

Ay, an' what's mair, we knaw he possess'd them;

Oh, then, hoo can we help but repine

For the hero that's gain'd wor affecshun,

Like this brave hardy son 0' the Tyne.

Fareweel te the world's finest champein;

An' defeated be Deeth tho ye be,

It cannot tyek ye frae wor hearts, lad;

An' yor form lang i' mem'ry we'll see.

We've been prood-ay, an' still wor prood 0' ye;

An' yor brave deeds for ivor 'ill shine

Throo the gloom thor's been myed wi' greet sorrow,

For the Champein an' Pride 0' the Tyne.

ETTICKITT!

TEUN-"The Biskit Man."

Aw'vs lately studied Ettickitt,

An' think it's sumthing grand

Te knaw hoo te behave yor-sel,

An' when te sit an' stand,

Iv ony kump'ney that yor in;

An' when te myek a boo,

An' the rules 0' gud behavour, whey

Aw's gawn te tell ye noo !

Korus.

For this is the way te behave yor-sel,

Think 0' me words an' tyek a spell,

Laybror, Mickanic, an' the tip-top swell,

Shud study the rules aw sing!

Ye've heerd that manners myeks the man,

Fine feathors myek fine bords,

That dissent say ye heh te dress

Mair then yor means affords:

Dress canny like,-yor stayshun keep,

An' divvent spoil yor breed,

A fact'ry lass wad nivvor seem

Curl-paypors iv her heed.

A workin man shud nivvor gan

Te wark i' Sunday's claes,

Withoot he's got nowt else te weer.

 A lass withoot her stays

Shud keep i' doors, an' nivvor show

The real size ov her waist,

An' nivvor put her gluves on when

Her hands all ower pyest!

I' convorsayshun, nivvor shoot

Withoot sumbody's deef,

An' nivvor mair then three shud speak

At one time's maw beleef;

An' if ye think ye've tell'd a lee,

Keep't te yor-sel, an' say

Ne mair aboot what ye've let oot,

Repent when yor away.

If foaks shud myek a mornin call,

An' ye shud be i' bed,

Just say yor oot an' not at hyem,

Heh ne excuses myed;

An' if they call at dinner-time,

An' ye've not got eneuff,

Just heh yor awn an' let them gan,

Suppose they tyek the huff

If ye invite sum frind te tea,

Tell them yor not prepared,

Aw nivvor saw a hoosewifeyit

But just the syem declared;

An' if the tea gets ower strang,

The kettle's on the neuk,

Te let ye knaw thor's wetter there,

If ye wad only luck.

At borths an' krisnins say yor glad

Te see se fine a bairn;

At deeths yor sad, yecannet help't,

Ye've nowt i' that te Iairn ;

At weddins jump an' dance wi'joy,

An' let the foaksa' see

Ye knaw what Ettickitt shud be,

Ay, just as weel as me!

JUST A HAPNEY

Music by the Author.

"JUST a hapney I-nivvor mind it!

Ye needint say a word,

We'll nivvor let a trashy meg

Between us myek discord ;

It may be yor mistyek or mine,

The change's gettin rang sum way,

But ahapney's neethor here nor there!"

Aw heard this iv a bar one day,

Just a hapney! just a hapney!

Thrawn away-dispised.

"Just a meg !-we'll nivvor find it,

It's ower dark the neet,

Te seek for just a paltry hapney

Fallin i' the street;

Then let it gan, we'll nivvor miss'd,

Aw waddent soil ma fingors for'd,

For a hapney's neethor here nor there!"

Aw heard agyen them varry words,

Just a hapney I just a hapney!

Thrawn away-dispised.

"Just a hapney !-if awhad one,

A biskit aw wad buy,

For oh, aw's varry hung'ry noo,"

Aw heard a laddy cry.

He got one,-an' his eyes they glissin'd,

Says he-"This hapney's life te me,

But aw'll tyek't hyem, becas me muther

Wants breed just as much as me I"

Just a hapney I just a hapney!

Wi' sum hoo dearly prized!

MOOR EDGE NELL!

TEUN-"Haymaking."

THOR'S a lass aw alwaysdream aboot, for ivor neet an' day,

She's nivvor oat me thowts at a', an' aw hope she nivvor may,

Tho' aw hevvent been owt like me-sel since that eventful day

Aw met me bonny Nelly on the Moor Edge.

Korus.

TEUN-"Bide ye yit."

Me Moor Edge Nell, me bonny young Nell,

What aw think 0' that lass thor's nebody can tell;

She's bonny, she's canny,-gud luck te me-sel,

If aw's only the sweetheart 0' Moor Edge Nell.

Her greet Shinon shone bright an' reed as a rival te the sun,

Her bonny fyece se roond an' plump cud clean eclipse the meun,

An' her eyes they twinkled like two stars that Sunday efterneun

Aw met me bonny Nelly on the Moor Edge.

Aw introduced me-sel te her, tho byeth ov us wes shy,

She luckt at me an' aw luckt at her, an' foakslucktpassin by,

But byeth ov us had tungs te speak, an' cud did when we'd try,  

An' we really got quite frindly on the Moor Edge.

Aw call her Moor Edge Nell becas aw divvent knaw her nyem,

Tho aw heerd sumbody call her Nell as we war gannin hyem;

Awthowt it soondid bonny, so aw've gein her just the syem,

An' we heh te meet next Sunday on the Moor Edge.

The palpitation o'the heart since then aw've refund's me share,

An' aw've got a poor man's plaistor on te try an' stiddied there;

But like a muffled drum it beats, an' will de, aw declare,

Till aw meet me bonny Nelly on the Moor Edge.

WOR GEORDEY'S LOKIL HIST'RY!

TEUN-"Barbary Bell."

l' WOR Geordey's hist'ry ye'll find Joolyis Sieze-her

Forst konker'd the Cockneys,-then com te the North,

An' greet Asheycoaler, the pet 0' the Rum-uns,

Bilt wor audist aud bridge when he leev'd i' the Forth;

Then Rum-uns an' Queer-uns got mix'd up tegither,

But Newcassel naytives detarmined an' fit,

Swore they'd nivvor tawk owt but thor awn canny lingo,

An' begox, so they did, ay, an' so they de yit!

The Jarrow lads noo show'd the way te bild churches,

An' ships sail'd like skiffs up the fine river Don,

But the Danes wes a cawshun till clivor King AIfey

Got inte gud fettle-te put Tommy on!

Then hist'ry cums next te the Konkerin Billy,

That hammer'd Young Malkim on Gyetsid Law Fell,

An' Bobby 0' Normandy -eager te mense us,

Stuck up i' Newcassel the Cassel itsel.

Seun efter they bilt wcr pride, bonny aud Nich'las,

An' walls roond the toon te pertect us frae war,

An' munks, nuns, an' friars, an' pilgrims frae Ne-way,

Te lairn wor grand dy'leckt, com ivor se far!

Then Coals wes discover'd te myek Tyneside faymis,

An' pitmen, the varry best judge 0' thor worth,

Went doon on thor hunkers, byeth thenkful an' cheerful,

Te howk up black diamonds,-the gems 0' the North.

It wad bother Bell's Life te rickord a' the battles

That John Bull an' Scotty had just aboot then,

Hoo kings travell'd throo frae byeth sides 0' the Border,

An' wad liked te myed canny Newcassel thor hyem;

Hoo plagues com an' left us like things nivvor wanted,

Hoo bad an' gud times teuk thor torns i' the toon,

An' whe wes the forst 0' the Cassel Garth Cobblers,

Wad actwilly puzzle the man i' the meun!

l' them days they hung up aud wimmen for witches,

An' ghosts wes as common as owt ye can see,

An' ony cheps practisin pickin an' stealin

Wes strung up aloft withoot hoo deye dee?

An' things went on this way for eers i' successhun,

An' foaks leev'd an' deed the syem way as afore,

Till Time let us knaw that real sivilizayshun

Wes a garmint i' fashin that varry few wore.

Then young Darwintwettor's sad end myed greet sorrow,

Wi' ne thowts 0' bailiffs an' koontisses then;

Sooth Sheels lads triumphint perduced the forst life-boat,

An' press-gangs myed plenty imployment for men;

Byeth keelmen an' pitmen had strikes tee, an' riots,

But Gallowgate Hoppin wiv a' its displays,

An' a' the best scenes i' the greet war i' Sangit,

Wes quiet compared te the aud 'Leckshun Days.

Then Geordey the Fowerth, debts nash'nil increasin,

Had pants on the Sandhill an' myed them run wine,

Becas he'd fund oot he'd a croon tiv his awn heed,

An' watchmen myed times luck mair like aud lang syne

Then Stephenson, king 0' the world's divor fellows,

Myed big iron horses te travel se fine,

An' aud Harry Clasper,-the fethur 0' champeins,

Let foaks see what hard uns we hey on the Tyne.

Then Grainger the foonder 0' Newcassel's grandor,

Myed a toon that we cannet but luck on wi' pride,

An' Airmstrang's greet gun myed riparts .ov its glory,

An' Morrison's hammer's deun wundors beside;

What wi' noble-like bridges an' fine-luckin bildins,

That mevvies we'll nivor be spared for te see,

Newcassel 'ill nivor find owt like its marrow,

Then whussil the "Keel Row" for ivor for me !

PARSIVEER!

OR, AVD TOMMY'S ADVICE TIV HIS SON JACK.

TEUN.-"Little Dick."

"DRAW near yor chair, maw bonny lad,

An' lissen te me words,

An' hear yor fethur's best advice

Expeerience affords,

Ye see we've got a canny hyem,

Thor's nowt but cumfort here,

Ye'll wundor hoo !- aw'll tell ye,

Jack, We always parsiveer!

Suppose aw've just a pund a week,

Three shillins clears the rent,

An' hard tho' aw may struggle for'd,

It's nivvor idly spent.

Yor muther tyeks gud care 0' that,

Her man an' bairns te cheer,

A'gud wife myeks her husbind knaw

The way te parsiveer!

At forst we diddent 'gree forst-rate,

Like newly-married [oaks,

But she wad nivvor let us fight,

She'd stop me mooth wi' jokes,

Or else sum kind an' luvin word

She knew aw liked te hear,

An' myed us myek a happy hyem,

Te keep't-we parsiveer !

Let shopmates scoff at ye, an' jeer

Aboot bein tied at hyem,

An' if they drink, it dissent say

That ye shud de the syem,

A glass 0' beer may de ye gud,

But tyek ne mair for fear

It leads ye tiv ecksess, so then

Agyenst it parsiveer!

Ye've heard what lots 0' clivor men

Throo drink we cuddent save,

Where one man myeks a fortin wid,

A thoosind finds a grave.

Keep up yor heart, be stiddy, lad,

An' then thor is rie fear

But happy days ye'll find i' store,

Just only parsiveer!

What was't that myed the Stephenson's

An' Airmstrang's greet success?

An' hoo did Grainger myek war toon

Se fine? ye'll eas'ly guess;

The Claspers, an' Bob Chambers, tee,

An' Renforth's great career,

Wad vivvor been, they kwew full weel,

Withoot they'd parsiveer!

Aw've deun a' that a fether cud

Te myek ye a gud trade,

An' if aw've not been one me-sel,

The best 0' bad aw've myed ;

Thor's alwayswark for stiddy cheps,

An' tallints bright an' clear,

Spring raydient frae the workin men

That's meant te parsiveer !"

GALLOWGATE BATHS

TEUN-The Lankishore Lass."

THOR'S a scene amang steam, an' the weshorwife'scream,

That's heard ivry day i' the Gallowgate Wesh-hoose,

An' ye'd fancy yor-sel i' the world 0' dreams,

If ye once had a glimpse 0' the Gallowgate Baths,

For the wivesa' there-they heh ne care,

But te clean the claes that's dorty there,

An' they a' seem equal te thor share

0' the wark at the Gallowgate Baths.

Kortis.

An' they'll chatan' they'll sing,

An'they'l scrub an' they'l ring,  

Byeth gud-Iuckin lasses an' wives sethrifty,

They'll poss an' they'll boil,

An' they'll cheerily toil, Frae morning te neet at the Gallowgate Baths.

Ye'll forst see the man that keeps a' the steam gawn,

As blithe as a king, luckin eftor the boilers,

An' he's willin te did, for he knaws that he can,

He's a real canny chep at the Gallowgate Baths;

The complaints ye hear, they cawse such fun,

Such as, "Marcy me I Jack's draw'rs is deun,

Byeth dishcloot an' tool they've been, but seun

They mun bid thor gud-bye te the Baths!"

Says Mary, "Bliss me! yor a weshorwife tee,

Yor swettin, but beer myeks the swet cum oat, lass,

When aw wes a lass aw wes varry like ye,

l' them days we'd nowt like the Gallowgate Baths;

But there's Mally Scott rung her claes afore me,

An' it wassent her turn,-what a hussy is she,

But the forst time that ivor aw get on the spree,

Aw'l! myek her rue gawn te the Baths!"

Says Nanny, "Aw's frighten'd me claes is run short,"

An' she thinks tiv her-sel that she'll mind the mang'il,

Then anuther poor sowl wiv her feelins hurt,

Myeks a doleful lament at the Gallowgate Baths,"

War Geordey's laps thor wore clean throo,

An' it's not lang since the shart wes new,"

Tho he sweers it's wind that's blawn them throo,

She blisses him weel at the Baths!

Says Nelly, "Thor's sumbody gyen wi' me soap,

That 'ill spoil us noo for a full day's weshin,

But if thor in arnist aw only hope

We'll see them ne mair at the Gallowgate Baths!"

"Gud grayshus I" cries Peggy; "me man's clean adrift,

Tho aw did what aw cud te give him a lift,

For wi' maw shimmee he's myekin a shift,

His shart's at the Gallowgate Baths!"

BOB JOHNSON'S COAT!

TEUN-H Cruiskeen Lawn,"

BOB JOHNSON bowt a coat,

An' he teuk a pride te show'd,

For he knew that he had work'd for'd like a man;

But the times they turn'd se bad,

He wes forced te pairt wid, lad,

An' what else cud he de wid but gan an' pawn'd?

Ay, an' pawn'd, It's an awful thing te heh yor claes i' pawn!

For not hawf 0' what it cost,

Tiv his seet it seun wes lost,

Tho he hoped te seun hed oot agyen te weer;

But wi' strikes an' slackness tee,

Thor wes little wark te de,

An' when ye heh nowt iv'rything seems dear,

Varry dear!

So he'd nowt else but his aud claesnoo te weer.

Then times got warse then bad,

An' poor Bob grew varry sad,

When he saw his best coat ticketed for sale,

I' the popshop window there,

Just as if it diddent care

Whe got it, an' Bob Johnson turn'd quite pale,

Varry pale,

Cas he cuddent buy his awn coat there for sale!

He'd lost the ticket tee,

An' what cud the poor sowl de ?

An Ackeydavey wad heh been ne use,

For myest ivrything had went,

Just te help te pay the rent,

An' a shillin wad bowt all iv Johnson's hoose,

What a hoose,

So the ticket te poor Bob wes little use.

Bob tell'd us just last week,

For an oor he cuddent speak,

When he saw his best coat on a fellow'S back,

A greet fop had gyen an' bowt Johnson's coat for next te nowt,

It myed Bob wish te give his jaws a crack,

Wiv a smack,

Te see his best coat on anuther's back!

It's a fact,

The reet place for yor claes is yor awn back!

DE YE SAY SE '?

TEUN-"Wor a Band 0' Bruthers."

OH, me heart's full 0' depresshun,

That aw cannet help expressin,

What ye'll tyek as a confesshun,

0' the luv aw beer for ye;

For aw like ye better, Mally,

Then Nan Robson's dowter Sally,

Tho she's "'Sally in wor Alley,"

Still it's yor the lass for me !

Koddin Korus.

TEUN-"Johnny Smoker."

De ye say se? de ye say se?  

Gudness grayshus! de ye say se?

Gudness grashus! de ye say se?

Yis, it's true, Mall, what aw'm sayin,

Tho yor little 'tenshun payin,

Wi' me hopes an' fears yor playin,

Tho it's owt but play te me;

So then pity this sad feelin,

That frae heed te heels is stealin,

An' hev marcy on a keelman,

That wad leeve or dee for ye !

Korus.

Vis, aw say se, yor me dear un,

Then let's hev an answor cheerin,

For a moment stop yor jeerin

On a luv-struck sowl like me,

Then for ivvor aw's yor debtor,

An' aw'll gan te wark far better,

An' aw'll sing when on the wetter,

Wiva heart byeth leet an' free!

Korns.

Vis, aw say se, yor me best un,

An' te ye aw pop the questin,

Ye may really think aw'm jestin,

But aw's seerious as can be;

Then say Yis! aw's iv a hurry,

Aw mun seun gan te me whurry,

If ye say ye winnet marry,

Te the drink aw'll surely flee!

Korus.

THE DEETH 0' HARRY CLASPER.

AJR-"Black-Eyed Susan."

SAD, sad's me heart, an' aw greet full sair,

Beside war hero's lowly bed,

Te think aw'll see me aud frind ne mair,

The frind that forst Tyne famous myed;

The forst an' last 0' wor greet Tyneside men,

Poor Harry Clasper, poor Harry Clasper,

Gyen! for ivor gyen!

Sharp wes the blow, like the leetnin's dart,

Deeth claim'd the vet'ran as its awn,

An' filled wi' pain iv'ry beatin heart

For him we'd luv'd, for him we'd knawn;

The forst boat-builder for wor Tyneside men,

Poor Harry Clasper, poor Harry Clasper,

Gyen! ay, deed an' gyen.

He's left the hyem that he luv'd se weel,

The "Coaly Tyne" his constant pride,

The frinds that lang, lang his loss 'ill feel,

An' luv'd ones that he's left beside;

The forst brave Champein 0' war Tyneside men,

Poor Harry Clasper, poor Harry Clasper,

Gyen, ay, deed an' gyen.

Sair, sair he greev'd when Bob Chambers dee'd,

The world's greet Champein he had myed,

 Wi' nyems combined, byeth 0' Tyneside breed,

An' honest upreet life they led,

Two gems, examples for a' Tyneside men,

Poor Harry Clasper, poor Harry Clasper,

An' Bob Chambers gyen!

Fareweel, aud frinds, ye've byeth run yor race,

An' mem'ry whispers this te me,

We'll find ne Champeins te fill yor place,

Tyneside affeckshuns clings te ye;

The forst greet heroes amang Tyneside men,

Poor Harry Clasper, poor Harry Clasper,

Au' Bob Chambers gyen!

THE LIFE BRIGADE.

TEUN- “Postman's Knock."

CUM lissen, me lads, te the sang that aw'll sing,

An' wi' plissure me voice noo aw'll raise,

Tho the stoot-hearted fellows that myek up the crews

0' the life-boats disarve ivry praise;

The life-boat's renoon'd i' byeth story an' sang,

An' its glorious nyem 'ill not fade.

Then aw'll sing a gud word for the brave volunteers

That belang te the Sheels Life Brigade.

Korus.

Success te thor efforts, an' then thor repaid,

The brave volunteers i' the Sheels Life Brigade!

This greet institushun wes forst organized

Be the brave hardy sons 0' the Tyne,

Te save shipwreck'd seamen's thor aim an' thor pride,

May gud luck wi' such objects combine;

l' the height 0' the storm when all uther means fail,

An' when help, if it can be convey'd,

Depends on the men wi' the rocket an' line,

Then gud luck te the bowld Life Brigade!

May thor sarvices seldum be needid's me wish,

May the day at a greet distance be

When thor corridge an' skill 'ill be put te the test,

For the poor helpless fellows at sea;

But thor ready, me lads, shud the time ivor cum,

When the seamen's i' need 0' thor aid,

May thor efforts be crooned wi' the best 0' success,

An' gud luck te the brave Life Brigade!

THE NEYBOR ABUV

TEUN- "When gud luck shows its fyece."

"Aw's a wummin that minds ne affairs but me awn,"

Says lang Nancy Joblin te me,

"But aw think thor's sum things that a body shud knaw,

An' sum things that a body shud see;

There's the neybor abuv been a fortneet upstairs,

An' aw cannet for munny or Iuv

Get te knaw whe she is,-neethur where she cums frae,

She's a myst'ry that neybor abuv;

Yis she is,

She's a queer un that neybor abuv.

"For lucks she wad pass iv a crood, ye wad say,

An' her figor's not really bad myed;

She's got sofa, chairs, cheeney cups, an' gud ware,

An' a new fower-powl feather bed;

An' a fine chist 0' draw'rs, an' a black satin dress,

An' her hand's nivvor clear ov a gluv;

Aw've thowt she's a widow,-but sometimes aw think not,

She's a myst'ry that neybor abuv;

Yis she is,

She's a queer un that neybor abuv!

"The forst Munday neet she went oot te the play,

On Tuesday she went there agyen,

On Wednesday mornin she nivvor got up,

Had her brickfist i' bed aboot ten,

Got her dinner at three,-nivvor had ony tea;

Be the smell ov her breeth aw cud proove

Thor wes sumthing had gyen doon her throttle mair strang,

She's a cawshun that neybor abuv.

Yis she is,

She's a mazer that neybor abuv.

"On Thursday a sowljor ran briskly upstairs,

An' stopt nearly a' the whole day;

A sailor at neet nearly stopt te dayleet,

An' for days they've gyen on i' that way;

But whichivor's her man aw can nivvor conseeve,

For they all appear'd deeply i' luv;

Ne better is she-then a wummin shud be,

She's a cramper that neybor abuv;

Yis she is,

She's a queer un that neybor abuv!

" But last week a noise myed us open me eyes,

 For the sowljor an' sailor had met

On the stairs,-an' a fight like a public-hoose row

Teuk place i' the eyes 0' thor pet;

But she stopt it wi' thrawin dorty wetter doon stairs,

Then she hoy'd them byeth oot wiv a shuv;

Aw've seen them ne mair, neether knaw them nor care,

She's a geezer that neybor abuv!

Yis she is,

JACK'S LISTED I' THE NINETY·ITE!

TEUN- "Doran's Ass," or "Finnigan's Wake."

"OH, what's the metter wi' ye, Meg Dawson?

Oh what's the metter wi' ye the day?

Ye luck as if ye war gan demented,

Yor eyes thor stairin just that way!"

"The metter wi' me,-if ye want te knaw then,

Heh ye heard the news frae Mary White?

She says wor Jack for a sowljor's listed,

The heed-strang feul's i' the Ninety-Ite,

"Wiv a lot 0' lads that's se lang been famed

For nowt that's gud, nor they nivor will;

Industrious cheps that wad nivvor work

If they just cud raise a penny gill.

He'll heh teun the shillin te sarve the queen,

Wi' ne idea 0' gannin te fight;

If he thowt thor wes ony chance 0' war,

He wad bid gud-bye te the Ninety-Ite.

"He nivvor liked wark, an' since he wes britch'd

He hessent cared hoo he got his meat;

Wiv his elbows oot he wad trail the streets,

An' the Peelers mark'd him on thor beat.

He wad argey owt for a pint 0' beer,

An' i' dominoes he teuk delite

l' playin a blank tiv a five or six,

They'll not stand that i' the Ninety-Ite.

"On Seturday neets what a swell he was,

Wi' velvet cap an' black curdyroys;

He wes famous for myekin ruffs keep still,

Tho the forst his-sel te myek a noise;

He knew if he married he cuddent keep

A wife,so he teuk one oot 0' spite,

Ay, an' he myed her muther an' her keep him,

A nice young chep for the Ninety-Ite,

"Aw's sartin we'll nivor can buy him off,

For hoo can poor foaks like us did?

What a pity a gud-like fyece an' heed

Like his, shud carry ne brains wid;

Blud's thicker then wetter-that's true eneuff

He's still war awn, tho a cawshun quite,

But bad as he is, they may de him gud,

An' myek him a man i' the Ninety-Ite."

Luv myed Jimmy Jollyfyece walk three miles te se his

sweetheart the barmaid, an' he fund it get that strang

that he cuddent find his way hyem agyen; but paid

 five shillins an' costs for the use ov a bed in the New

Pollis Stayshun.

WHERE HEH VE BEEN, LASS'?

TEUN-"Jinny Nettle,"

"WHERE heh ye been, lass? cum an' tell us, Jinny, hinny,

Where heh ye been, lass? stoppin oot se late;

Where heh ye been, lass? cum an' tell yor sister, hinny,

Where heh ye been, lass? lang yeve made us wait;

Aw waddent wundor ye've' been kortin, feelins hortin, wi yor flortin,

Yor play'n the deuse wi' Harry Burton,

Divvent brick he's heart, lass 1"

(Sing the forst fower lines for the Korns.)

"What's that bit frame there, glis'nin like a gooldin ginney?

Is't Harry's portrait ?-heh ye lost yor tung?

What myeks ye frighten'd ?-let us see the pictor, hinny,

Then beside yor awn we'll seun hed nicely hung;

Let's hey a luck, maw canny sister, when aw miss her, hoo aw bliss her,

So cum an' let us cuddle, kiss her,Let us see the portrait! "

Korus.

"What's that aw see, lass? it issent Harry Burton's likeness,

That's Tommy Greener's, ye knaw that he's me lad.

Did he gie ye that ?-tell us, willye, hoo ye got it?

Whe heh ye been with? divvent myek us bad!

Oh, hinny, Jinny, quick an' tell us, for aw's jeIlous,-if the fellow

Fancies ye before yor Bella,Faith aw's fairly deun for! "

Korus.

"Oh, Bella, sister. dinnet think that aw wad harm ye,

Tom gos the portrait, an' tell'd us te gie ye'd;

Doon street we met, an' aw meant te keep't a bit te plague ye,

Noo aw've tell'd ye all aw'm like a pris'ner freed;

Since aw met him aw've been wi' Harry,-canny Harry says he'll marry

Me,-an' noo he's bowt a whurry,

What de ye think 0' that, lass?

That's where aw'vebeen lass,if the truth aw heh to tell ye,

Been wi' me awn lad, canny Harry Burton! "

(Repeat last two lines for last Korus.)

THE MEUN·LEET FLIT !

TEUN-"Ten Thousand Miles Away."

THE neet wes dark, but the cairt wes there,

An' we'd got a frind te drive,

An' we teuk a bottle 0' whiskey wis,

Te keep us all alive,

Te keep us all alive, me lads,

For the times had been se bad,

We'd got ne rent for the lanlord then,

So a meun-leet flit we had.

Korus.

Iv a' the scenes aw knaw,

A meun-Ieet flit beats a',

It myeks ye wundor where ye are,

An' where yor gan te be;

That neet aw'll nivor forget,

When we had the meun-leet flit,

For away on the sly,

Withoot sayin gud-bye,

Wes the best thing we cud de.

The wife had gyen an' packt the things

An' oor or two before,

The bed wesat the windowlang

Afore we reach'd the door;

But when we reach'd the door, me lads,

It seun com tumlin doon,

An' the tyeble wiv a broken leg

Wes next hoy'd oot the room.

The three-legg'd steul fell on Bill's heed,

"Haud on there, mate," he roar'd;

"Shut up, ye feu]," says aw, "be still,"

When doon aw went quite floor'd,

When doon aw went quite floor'd, me lad,

Wi' the bed-pawls on me nose;

"Cum show the leet;" says Jack,

"A' reet," Wi' the poker on his toes.

The crock'ry-ware wes handed next,

Says Bill, "Aw's awful dry

"The clock com tumlin on his fyece,

An' nearly blackt his eye,

An' nearly blackt his eye, me lads,

Its awn fyece strikin his,Says Jack,

"Let's gawn, the cairt's chock-full,

We've mair then wor awn wis!"

We pass'd a street or two quite safe,

An' then the horse wad stop;

The bed-powls, an' the draw'rs as weel,

Com rowlin frae the top,

Com rowlin frae the top, me lads,

An' hoo we a' got hyem

Aw divvent knaw, or dorsint think,

But what a spree we'd then.

MARRY THE LASS!

TEUN-"Billy, me bonny Lad."

MARRY the lass, Sep Riley,

Myek her as gud as yor-sel,

An' then she'll be warse then ivor she wes,

It wes just throo ye she fell;

She once wes a decent bit milk-lass,

As decent as any can be,

N00 a' the foaks luck doon upon her,

An' ye knaw it's just throo ye.

Marry the lass, Sep Riley,

If just te give her a nyem,

For ye knew she once had a gud un,

An' disarves te keep the syem;

She's workin as hard as a lass can,

Te keep her-sel ivry day,

The time 'ill seun cum when she cannet,

Marry her noo-when ye may!

Marry the lass, Sep Riley,

Ye often tell'd her ye wad,

Ye knaw that she thinks a vast 0' ye,

Vor the only lad she's had;

If ye dinnet, aw's sure she'll be heart-broke,

She's gettin warse ivry day,

Ye knaw she hes gossipin neybors,

That divvent care what they say,

Marry the lass, Sep Riley,

If ye'd only seen her cry,

When she thowt nebody beside her,

I' the lane that's just hard by;

Aw's sure it wad myed ye relent, lad,

It wad turn a heart 0' styen,

Te hear the poor thing when she'ssobbin,

Sobbin an' sighin alyen!

Marry the lass, Sep Riley,

She'll myek ye a canny bit wife,

Tho aw's sartin she's ower gud for ye,

For ye've been her bane throo life;

Her fethur 'ill set up the hoose, lad,

Her muther 'ill help her, tee,

So marry, an' give her a nyem, lad,

If ye divvent=-poor thing, she'll dee!

Marry the lass, Sep Riley,

Bliss ye! ye say that ye will,

An' ye'll nivvor heh cawse te repent it,

Vor heart's i' the reet place still;

Aw'll tell her it's settled for Sunday,

Poor lass, it 'ill myek her glad,

So let's hey a gill on the heed on't,

An' two eftor that, me lad.

MISTRESS THOMSINS LODGER

TEUN- "Ow Mary."

Aw warn'd ye've heard 0' Rodger?

That's Mistress Thomsin's lodger,

He's teun his hook, an' sloup'd them a',

An', ay, but he's a dodger;

He's got se much i' debt there,

He's caws'd them a' te fret there,

They nivvor thowt he'd be se bad,

For he wes a greet pet there!

Korus

 " Oh! Mistriss Thomsin,

What will ye de?" says a' the neybors;

"Oh, Mistriss Thomsin,

Yor lodger, Rodger's ron away."

He korted Thomsin's dowter,

Tho mony a lad had sowt her,

She thowt se much 0' Rodger, faith,

That money waddent bowt her;

He wun thor whole affeckshuns,

Wi' boasts 0' high conneckshuns,

An' wheedling wayshe got thor praise,

But noo it's awful vexin.

He's a quarter back i' rent, tee,

Besides sum money lent, tee,

The landlady advanced him owt,

An' away wi' all he went, tee.

What bad, what mean behavour,

Te pay the aud wife's labour

Wi' nowt but base ingratitude,

Besides he jew'd the neybors!

WHAT WILL THE NEYBORS SAY ?

TEUN-"Whe's for the Bank"

"Aw's gan te be married upon the sly,"

Says Martha Green te me;

"But till the weddin-day cums off

Whativvor will aw de?

For aw can hardly haud me tung,

Te let the neybors knaw,

What an awful thing a secret is,

Aw's sure it's warse then a'.

Korus

 "For, oh dear! what will they say.

What will the neybors say when they hear on't?

Oh dear! what will they say,

Ay, what will the neybors say?

"Aw meant te hey a dazzlin show,

An' saved up for a goon

The stuff aw bowt wes a bonny blue,

Tho me muther wanted broon,

Aw meant te open a' thor eyes,

But Davey, he said nay!

He thinks it's best iv a quiet style,

But what will the neybors say?

"The hat aw bowt-tho seckind-hand

Lucks just as weel as new,

Wi' bright orn'ge blossoms roond the brim,

A nice match for the blue;

But noo thor just as gud as deun,

Till sum fine Summer's day,

For if aw put them on just noo,

What wad the neybors say?

"Aw wish me weddin-day wes here,

Aw sure aw wish't, aw de;

But bliss us, if nebody knaws,

Thor winnet be a spree,

For Davey hessint teIl'd a sowl,

But he mun hev his way,

For if aw divvent get married at a',

What will the neybors say?"

WOR TVNESIDE TALLINT GYEN

TEUN- "Bablylon is fallen."

SINCE the days o'BiIly Purvis,

Hoo mony's gyen before us,

An' left Tyneside, untimely fates te mourn;

When that cloon, i' joke an' story,

Wes a' North Country's glory,

His deeth, aw mind, wi' greef wes sadly borne.

Korus

Gyen frae the hyem we knaw they liked se weel,

Gyen frae the frinds that held them ivor dear,

War greet Wits an' Tyneside Singers,

Hoo few amang us lingers,

Te cheer us wi' the sangs they knew cud cheer.

Bobby Nunn, that bard se hyemly,

Cud please the lasses cumley,

An' myek byeth young an' aud uns Iaff wi'glee;

An' Jack Sessford, kind an' hearty,

!' mony a jolly party,

Wad chant a IokiI sang as full 0' spree.

Then poor Geordy Ridley's singin,

That set the "Tyne" a' ringin,

Wes hush'd for ivor te the "Canny Toon";

An' that Wit se droll, Ned Corvan,

Ova' wor praise disarvin,

Left sporrits he'd kept up byeth sad an' doon,

Billy Thompson's happy fyece, tee,

Wes render'd one the less, tee,

0' them that's sung Tyne ditties as few can;

An' te cawse mair disolayshun,

Deeth, te wor constornayshun,

Claim'd Robson, wor greet Poet-as its awn,

Then fareweel, ye Bards 0' Tyneside,

Yor stilI, and will be ·wor pride,

An' as lang as thor's a dialect 0' thine,

We'll a' sing yor songs se clivor,

On the shore an' on the river,

For the Bards that's myed se famous" Coaly Tyne."

WE'LL NIVVOR INVlTE THEM TE TEA ONY MAlR!

TEUN-"TheLain! 0' Cockpen."

THE tyeble luckt canny, an' cosey, an' full,

An' aw sat wi' the bairn on wor aud three-leg'd steul,

An' its muther luckt really as happy as me,

For that day we'd invited sum frinds te thor tea.

Thor wes Dick an' Nan Temple, two frinds that we'd knawn

As a canny young lass an' a canny young man,

They had faithfully promised that Sunday at three,

Wi' two or three mair frinds, te cum an' tyek tea.

So wor Mally myed up, on the Seturday neet,

Bowt spice loaf an' fancy kyecks, ivrything sweet,

An' wi jillies an' marmilades really myed free,

Fairly meant te luck decent when frinds com te tea.

So on Sunday, when dinner wes ower that day,

Like a gud handy hoosewife she clear'd things away,

An' wor new tyeble-cloth, just as white as cud be,

Had a real grand invitin appearance for tea.

The cups wes a' set, an' the wigs nice an' het

Wes butter'd, then cut upse neat be me pet,

An' the bairn, wiv a lump iv its hand, full 0' glee,

Seem'd te knaw thor wes sumbody cummin te tea.

The clock had gyen two, an' then three, an' half-past,

We porswayded wor-sels it wes ivor se fast,

For we all had gud payshuns till fower let's see,

If they diddent cum seun we wad heh wor awn tea!

When five o'clock struck, man, aw hardly cud speak,

An' me wife, wi' the blud rushin a' tiv her cheek,

Smash'd two cups, oot 0' humour wivher awnsel an' me,

We sat doon without ivor a word te wor tea.

Iv a' disappointments-aw pity the fate

0' them doom'd for promises broken te wait,

When they once did te me, whey aw firmly declare,

That aw'll nivor invite them te tea ony mair!

Aw wad like te shake hands wi' the man that can

please iverybody. He mun be one d them phinomenons

that ne generation 'ill iver leeve te see.

HE WES RECKOND GUD·HEARTED!

TEUN-“Erin, my Country."

BOB REPTON wes reckond a gud-hearted fellow,

As gud an' kind-hearted as ony can be,

For spending his muney he waddent be thwarted,

But treat onybody-when oot on the spree,

At hyem, what a diff'rence, se mean an' se stingey,

He'd hammer the wife,an' the poor bairneys, tee;

An' wi' moans he wad fill a' the hoose, aud an' dingey,

An' myek't just as miserable as it cud be.

Bob Hepton wes reckond a gud-hearted fellow,

Whereivor he show'd his fyece, jolly ye'd say;

He wes pick 0' the sports, an' at dancin or singin,

Wes pride 0' the kumpney, an' king 0' the gay;

The syem time his unhappy wife at hyem starvin,

Wes tryin wi' toilin te aim a bit breed,

An' the bairns wi' thor cries myed the poor body narvis,

Se narvis, she nearly wes oot ov her heed.

Bob Hepton wes reckond a gud-hearted fellow,

Wi' fine tung for wimmin, an' jokes for the men,

An' ne thowts 0' the hyem he had-heartless, disarted

He wad treat them agyen, an' agyen, an' agyen;

The syem time at hyem his poor little son Charley,

Wiv a feverish sickness wes wastin away,

Wi' nqwt else, but only sum wetter an' barley,

Te wet his dry lips a' the neet an' the day.

Bob Hepton wes reckond a gud-hearted fellow,

He knew hoo te humour the foaks that he met;

"A real dashin chep l" they wad whisper amang them,

An' myek him thor plissure, thor pride, an' thor pet;

But at hyem, like ademon, diffishunt 0' feelin,

He'd gloat on the mis'ry successfully myed,

An' false te that hyem-like an imp ova' evil,

A doubbil-fyeced, cruel, heartless life Hepton led.

MY TWENTY-FORST BIRTHDAY!

THERE'S a time in life when sadness,

Like a shadow disappears,

And our hearts rebound with gladness,

As we welcome coming years;

And the years that's gone before us,

Like a fleeting, happy dream,

Bring back sweet recollections

Of a life that's pass'd serene.

And on each successive birthday,

How we gladly gather round,

And give welcome to that circle

Where true friendship we have found;

And we bless each trusted comrade

With an honest open heart,

The days so bright we prophesied,

Re-echo'd in each heart.

In the earliest prime of manhood,

There's a dear delightful page

In life's history,-one-and-twenty

Is the flower of an age,

And an age when manly feelings

At the festive board abounds,

And the cheering, treasured faces

Of the friends we love, surround

The glad scenes on such occasions;

And on this occasion, I

Give the hand of auld acquaintance,"

And in this, my best reply,

To the wishes kindly given,

And the health you drink to me,

May you know life's great enjoyment,

And each day as happy be,

As your best of friends could wish you;

And when many years are gone,

May we find that charm in birthdays,

As we do,-when twenty-one!

LET'S HEV A ROW, BUT DINNET SULK!

A RECITASHUN

"LET's hey a row, but dinnet sulk,

We'd better fight it oat,"

Says Charley Batey tiv his wife,

One day when put aboot;

"Aw'd seuner hey a row just noo,

Then hear ye sigh a' day,

Ye'l! myek us that aw'll leave the hoose,

De ye knaw that it's the pay? "

Let's hey a row, but dinnet sulk,

We hardly spoke last week;

De ye think that aw can leeve wi' ye,

If ye refuse to speak?

What gud can't de yor sulkin se?

We'd better settled noo,

Ye'll myek us de sumthing that's rang,

An' then find time te rue!

"Let's hev a row; but dinnet sulk,

Ye say aw spent the brass

Aw myed last week for owertime,

That vexes ye, me lass;

An' if aw·did-it's reet aw shud,

Ye knaw aw wanted claes,

Aw diddent thraw'd away on drink,

Or any such like ways.

"Let's hey a row, but dinnet sulk,

That froon wes nivvor seen

Upon yor broo, when lad an' lass,

We byeth had turn'd iteteen;

Ye'll not speak yit,-ye'll myek us flee

Te drink, or sumthing bad,

Are ye gan daft ?-ye winnet speak,

Or is't me that's gawn mad?

"Aw've bowt sum claes, maw canny wife,

An' still yor iv a rage;

Aw'd better tyek me owertime,

Then meddle wi' me wage,

An' still ye sit an' groan as tho

Aw'd teun yor best heart's blud,

But Time wi' ye's myed weary wark

Yor temper's not se gud!

"Let's hey a row, but dinner sulk,

Aw'd like te hear a word

Frae them reed lips, that once aw thowt

Wad nivvor breed discord;

Aw'd rethur hear ye call us owt,

An' vex us till aw's sair,

Then see yor aggravatin fyece,

Sit sulkin i' that chair!

"Yor smilin noo, that bonny broo

Lucks brighter then it was,

Cum te me airms, maw cumley pet,

An' let's heh ne mair cause

Te myek us use reproachful words,

Let's lead a happy life,

An' nivvor let yor husbind think

He's got a sulky wife!"

THAT FACTORY LASS!

TEUN-"Erin go Bragh."

"Oh, Jack, what's the metter? ye luck se doon-hearted,

Whativor's yor trubbil? aw hope ye'll tell me,

Ye luck se dejected, what is't lad? cum tell us,

It pains us te see a yung chep sad as ye."

"Whey, Joe, man, aw'm nearly heart-broken, believe us,

Aw can find ne injoyment i' me pipe or me glass,

Me luv for me Mary's byeth strange an' unsartin,

Aw heh ne peace 0' mind throo that Factory Lass!

"She works i' the fact'ry amang lots 0' lasses,

 But nyen 0' the beauties that's there can compare

Wi' the lass that aw's efter,-she's smart an' she's bonny,

Wi' blue eyes, a Wellinton nose, an' reed hair;

Her mooth wad tempt ony te wish they dor kiss them,

Her lucks a' tegither a Queen wad surpass,

But, oh man, aw's frighten'd she cares nowt aboot us,

Ay, an' me deep i' luv wi' that Factory Lass!

"Aw left her one mornin te join the Militia,

An' sairly she cried an' aw hoped 'twes for me,

But noo man, aw doot it, -aw'm not often jealous,

But really aw've seen what aw'd rether not see.

She wesleet-myed an' canny the mornin aw left her,

But noo she's se stoot, that the neybors a' pass

Remarks--when aw hear them aw shudder an' fear that

She's been false te me hes that Factory Lass!

"Aw sumtimes imadjin aw shud marry sweet Mary,

But if aw propose man, aw've ne courage wid,

For aw've thowt te me-sel that thor might be sumbody,

Had mair reet te her, ay, an' mair reet te did.

So aw feel se unhappy, the whole toon aw wander,

But whativor shud happen, whativor shud pass,

Aw promise te tell ye the next time aw meet ye,

Aw'm as daft as a feul throo that Factory Lass!"

DIVVENT BOTHER US SE!

TEUN-"Kiss i' the Ring."

TE kort me lass aw oftin try,

But mischief shines iv her bonny blue eye,

She'll cock up her nose as aw pass by,

An' she's always pickin her fun oot 0' me,

Says she, "Can aw help't, when ye plague us se?"

"Sartinly," says aw; says she,

"Ye nivor say owt aboot luv te me!"

Says she; says aw, "Aw de!" Says she,

"Haud yor tung, divvent bother us sel"

Says aw, "Whey what can a poor fellow de?

N00 whe will ye hev, if ye winnet heh me?"

Says she, "Haud yor tung, divvent bother us se!"

Says aw, "Aw like ye as wee !as man can,

Roond the world frae Newcassell for ye aw wad gan,

If aw divvent speak fine its as fine as aw can,

An' what else te please ye can ivor aw de?"

Says she, "Ye knaw weel that aw gan wi' Jack Broon,"

"Sartinly," says aw; says she,

"He's the canniest, bonniest lad i' the toon, "

"Is he tho?" says aw, "not he!" Says she,

"Haud yor tung, divvent bother us set Il Says aw,

"De ye think that ye'll frighten me?

Ye knaw that Jack Broon gans wi' Mary McCree,"

Says she, "Haud yor tung, divvent bother us se I"

Says she, "Did aw not see ye the day,

Stoppin an' tawkin te fat Jinny Grey?"

Says aw, "For a frind mun aw gan oot the way,

She wes axin the time, aw wes luckin te see!"

Says she, "Wassent Jinny a sweetheart 0' yors?"

"Sartinly," says aw; says she,

"Ye'll gan wi' byeth new an' aud sweethearts of courseI"

Says she; says aw, "Not me! " Says she,

"Haud yor tung, divvent bother us sel"

Says aw, "It's strange we se seldum agree,

Yor always findin sum faIt wi' me!"

Says she, "Haud yor tung, divvent bother us sel"

Says aw, "For a minnit just lissen te sense,

Aw'll set up a hoose, an' aw'll spare ne expense,

But aw'll want a wife, the set up te mense,

An' awthink that aw cuddent heh better than yel"

Says she, "It's yor turn te pick fun oat 0' me,"

"Sartinly," says aw; says she,

"But if yor in arnist, aw think we'll agree!"

"That's reet," says aw; says she,

"Ye'll promise ne mair te plague us sel"

 Says aw, "Yor as daft as a body can be,

Aw'll plague ye far maid" says aw; says she,

"Huts, lad, haud yor tung, divvent bother us se!"

If ye dream ye've seen a ghost, ye may safely calkilate on the

 contrary. Thor niver wes ony ghosts, or iver will be, te foaks i'

thor sober senses. So ye may gan te sleep agyen withoot ony fear,

and snore withoot contradicshun. Thor's nebody sees owt 0' the

kind but madmen an' heavy drinkers. If ye want te see one, tyek

a fit 0' Dileerium Trimmins: it's the best recipe aw can gie ye; an'

 ye can send thirteen stamps if it toms oot successful. Gratitude's

cheap.

THE DEFEAT 0' THE COCKNIES!

BE THE COALLY TYNE HEROES, AT THAMES GRAND REGATTA, AUGUST 4th AND 5th, 1868.

TEUN- "Barbary Bell," or the "Wunderful Tallegraff."

AW'LL sing ye a bit sang if ye'll join i' the korus,

Ye'll give us a gud un,-aw's sartin ye will,

For it's all i' the praise i' the Coally Tyne heroes,

The Charnpeins we've had, an' the Champeins we've still;

Tho aw's sad when awthink 0' brave honest Bob Chambers,

Aw's glad the example he set's been weel tyen,

For wor bonny boat-pullers, the best ova' scullers,

Thor lickt for thor equal,-becas they heh nyen.

N00 it's mony a lang eer since game aud Harry Clasper

Astonish'd the Cocknies, an' myed them fight shy,

The Tyneside boat-rowers, se prood 0' thor river,

Kept up the successes for eers its gyen by;

Then Chambers, the Champein ov a' the world's pullers,

Goh the Cocknies a gliff that they'll nivor forget,

Whey, Kelley for six eers dor hardly gan near him,

TiII he knew Bob wes deun,-then he challinsed wor pet!

But lads, thor's stiII gud uns withoot gan te Lundin,

An' where will ye find them but just on the Tyne?

Did ye ivor hear owt like the greet Thames Regatta?

Where the canny Tynesiders se bonny did shine;

Aw wad like te been there te seen a' the lang fyeces,

The Cocknies wad pull when they fund they war deun,

For they nivor imadjind the whole 0' the prizes,

For Champeins, wad cum te wor river as seun.

Thor wes game Jimmy Taylor, Mat Scott, Andrew Thompson,

Wi' the second Bob Chambers te pull the stroke oar,

Com in for the Hundrid withoot ony trubbiI,

Twes easier then ivor its been wun afore;

Then the race for the Pairs, tho twes reckund a grand un,

Just show'd 0' what hard stuff a Tynesider's myed,

For Taylor an' Scott fairly bothered a' Lundin,"

Gox! wor gan te get nowt this time!" Kelley then said.

But the Champeinship race is wor pride an' wor glory,

When brave Jimmy Renforth, se honest an' true,

Led the way before gud men like Sadler an' Percy,

An' the foaks that wes there really sweer that he flew!

He's Champein ov Ingland,-then wish him success, lads,

May he, like poor Bob Chambers, stick weel te the nyem ;

Then gud luck te the Fowers, the Pairs, an' the Champein,

Besides a' the canny boat-pullers at hyem!

MARTHA GREY

TEUN- "Luv amangthe Roses."

IT might heh been i' Yepril,

Or it might heh been i' May,

When forst aw wes se lucky

As te meet wi' Martha Grey,

She stood behint the koonter,

 Byeth reed an' fat wes she;

The hams an' bacon roond her

Had ne such charms te me.

Aw got a half-a-noonce 0' twist,

An' aw wish'd that aw cud steal her,

At forst seet there me heart aw miss'd,

Throo that stoot Pervishun Dealer!

Korus.

They call her Grey,-her measure's just,

She keeps a shop, but gies ne trust;

 Since then aw've oftin tried her,

An' aw's ne poor appealer,

But wi' Martha Grey aw hope sum day,

Te be Co-Pervishun Dealer!

Aw axed her for a leeter,

Or aw said a match wad de,

Then frev a box beside her,

She handed two or three;

Aw luckt doon at the matches,

An' then aw luckt at her,

I' hopes her eye wad catch us,

But she stared at the dor.

She teuk ne notis when aw spoke,

What aw meant for a feeler,

A match aw thowt wad end i' smoke,

Wi' that stoot Pervishun Dealer.

Since then aw've gyen there oftin,

Te kort fat Martha Grey,

An' hard aw've tried te soften

Her heart an' myekt give way,

Aw believe that aw've a chance yit,

For sumtimes Martha's eye

Wi' luv 'ill myek advances,

So then aw'll gamely try,

Te captivate byeth wife an' shop,

At Mary's feet aw'll kneel, or

The co-operative questin pop

Te that stoat Pervishun Dealer!

SNOOKS'S DINAH

TEUN-"Martha, the Milkman's Dowler."

BILL SNOOK'S married a darkey wife,

Aw divvent knaw where he fund her,

 But ower the sea she's cum wi' him,

An' filled us a' wi wunder,

Such eyes an' cheeks, such nose an' mooth,

Aw nivvor clapt me eyes on,

But fancy's ivrything they say,

For all it's se surprisin.

Korus.

Frae the heed te the fut,

She's as black as any sur,

Thor may be fair an' finer,

But for a Blackeymoor, aw's sure

Thor's nyen like Snooks's Dinah!

She's a Nigger,-ne half-bred Quadroon,

Thor's ne disputin her breed.

Ne Mullatto or ne Octoroon

Can show a heed like hor heed,

It's a curley, wooley, toosey pow,

Ne turmit aw've seen bigger,

Frae the shoolders te the waist square-built,

She's a heavy-wite black Nigger!

Bill says when they got married he

Wes heavy on the spree then,

The job wes deun-he cuddent help't,

So what wes he te de then?

He got te bed-but oh, next morn,

He thowt the imp 0' evil

Had been his pairtner i the neet,

His bed-mate wes the deevil!

"Oh marcy, divvent tyek us yit!

Aw's not prepared te leave here,"

Bill cried, an' wrung his hands i' grief.

Says she, "Ye needn't grieve here,

For awls yor lawful wedded wife,

Yor choice ov luv an' passhun!

"Me wife!" cries Bill, "yor Bellsebub!

Lord help us, yor a cawshun !"

But efter that, he got used wid,

An' Dinah liked her gud-man,

They really got te 'gree forst-rate,

As married cupples shud, man,

An' when Bill cums hyem frae the pit,

She likes te see him black, as

She thinks he's then mair like her-sel,

Till he says, "Cum wesh me back, lass l"

But lately Dinah's been confined,

Wi' such a little geezer,

A little fellow,-black an' tan,

Drest up i' white te please her,

Billlafft te see them byeth i' bed,

Luckt at one an' then the tuther,

An' wundorin whe on orth it's like,

He kiss'd it for its muther!

AN ACROSTIC TO ROBERT STEPHENSON, THE CELEBRATED MUSICIAN, LORD NELSON INN, TRAFALGAR STREET, NEWCASTLE.

R ICH and sweet in harmony,-and jovial as a friend,

O bliging to his customers, one that we'd have attend;

B enevolent to those in need, true as the truest steel,

E nriching the good name he has, one that can make us feel

R espect, and he for ever gains the great respect of all,

T hat love at the "Lord Nelson," in Trafalgar Street to call.

S urrounded by the Talent, and there is a real high class,

T hat gather round their good old friend to have a pipe and glass,

E nchanting all with music in a choice and varied strain,

P rofessionals as jolly, that achieve, and can obtain

H igh test'mony from critics, of abilities their own,

E qualled only by good humour they've already shown;

N umerous are the patrons who oft show how they regard

S tephenson, their favourite, whom they've so often heard

O n the violin, attracted, when the sweetest of all sound,

N ourishes the ear that's charmed when friends are friends all round.

MYEK PEACE!

TEUN-"Cappy's the Dog."

MYEK peace I-can ye find any gud iv a row?

Wiv a smack on the nose or a crack on the pow,

Wi' yor skull nearly dayver'd, yor eyes a' but blind,

What gud i' such mischief can anyone find?

Korus,

So aw hope ye'll make peace,

An' yor plissures increase,

Wiv a gud hearty sosheeble

Happy-like peace.

Nivvor eg a man on wiv anuther te fight,

Or get him te hammer sum chep for yor spite,

That's a thing aw knaw often greet cooerds 'ill de,

Myek peace!-ay, an' try te myek a' men agree.

Myek peace I-an' the pollis ye nivvor need fear,

Ye can say te yor-sel that he's not wanted here!

Man an' wife shuddent put one anuther aboot,

An' canny young sweethearts shud nivvor fall oot.

Aw cud nivvor see owt iv a row in the hoose,

But led tiv hard words an' a' kinds ov abuse,

Exposin' affairs te yor neybors se true,

That the forst time ye hear them repeated ye rue.

l' yor unruly moments just think ov me sang,

It 'ill hinder ye surely for dein mair rang,

An' yor sartin te find a' yor plissures increase,

If ye just myek't yor study to heh nowt but peace.

So aw hope ye'll myek peace,

An' yor plissures increase,

Wiv a gud hearty sosheeble

Happy-like peace!

WHERE IS GEORDEY GYEN?

TEUN- "Homeward Bound."

OH, where-oh, where is wor Geordey gyen?

He'll not gan te wark, or he'll not stop at hyem;

Aw've seen little on him since New Eer's day,

If he'll not gan te wark, he'll get ne pay.

Korus.

Oh! where is Geordey gyen-oh, where?

Oh! where is Geordey gyen?

'Twes the Nine Oors Movement did the trick,

For it suits wor lad ony time te stick:

If Geordey had his awn way, aw knaw,

He wad gan on strike for ne wark at a'!

When the Strike wes on, he wes better off then

Then he wes before, or he'll be agyen,

For he got his beer, an' injoyed his smoke:

When the Strike wes settled, his heart wes broke!

At last, rethur then work-wi' passhun het

He knock'd doon the forst Belgein he met;

An', man, hoo sorry aw was for the lad,

When they sent him for six weeks te quad.

It's true he wes often i' jail before,

But his mates gov him welcum oot wiv a roar;

It's true what aw say, an' de what aw like,

He'll nivvor be reet till thor's anuther Strike!

WOR PEGGY'S ALBUM!

TEUN-"Postman's Knock."

HERE'S wor Peggy's Album, but what it contains

Aw's sartin wad pussle ye a',

But what's i' the beuk withoot hevin a luck,

Aw'll try te let all on ye knaw.

The first it's a chep that aw knaw nowt aboot,

That she bowt for a penny one day,

Then here's Dolly Scott that 'ill tawk for a munth,

If ye'll lissen tiv owt that she'll say!

Korus.

It's a stunner, me lads, an' ye'll say that aw's reet,

For if Peggy's a cawshun, her Album's a treat.

The third it's a chep wiv a beer-blossim'd fyece,

But hoo he gets drunk pussles me,

He's nivvor at wark-but i' dayleet or dark

He's always the forst iv a spree;

Then here's Harry Palmer, that leeves doon war yard,

He plays on the kornet at neets,

An' ye'll see him sumtimes, iv his rifleman's claes,

Wi' the band, promenadin the streets.

Then here's Nanny Hunter that keeps a bit shop,

An' sells bullets an' claggum for bairns,

She's a canny aud wife, an' aw hope she'll de weel;

The next's an aud maid they call Cairns,

She's off wi' the Mormons, because she lost heart

0' gettin a gud man at hyem;

An' the next it's a lass that aw fancy me-sel,

So aw think aw'll not men shun her nyem.

Then here's Charley Ridley that stands i' the bar,

For the lanlord that keeps the" Black Rat,"

An' lang Mally Todd wiv her mooth gyepin wide,

An' her eyes like aw divvent knaw what;

The last it's wor Geordey, as grave as a priest,

Wiv a greet big bull-dog on his knee;

He's the last i' the beuk, an' aw wish Peggy luck,

May she seun hed as full as can be.

PERFESSHUNAL LODGERS!

TEUN-"The Yallow Girl that -wink'd at me."

MAN, aw'm nearly gawn oot d me heed,

For aw lodge wi' such queer lodgers,

They kick up such a clatter,

That aw wundor what's the matter,

An' aw think them a real queer breed;

Thor perfesshunal cheps, they say,

A lot 0' Music Hall performers.

They may be varry cliver,

But aw'd like te knaw whativer

Myeks them carryon iv such a way.

Korus.

An' oh, my! aw often try

Te get a bit rest, but when thor nigh

Aw'm sure aw nivvor will,

For they kick up such a clatter,

That aw wunder what's the matter,

For they cannet or they winnet keep still!

 I' the mornin the fiddler starts

Te give us a dose ov his scrapin;

Then the sentimentil singer

Just aboot the time for dinner

Myeks us a' fit te brick wor hearts;

Then the comic one's turn begins,

An' he nearly the whole street raises,

What wi' him an' wi' the niggor,

They byeth cut a bonny figgor,

An' the dog-dancer joins i' the din.

Then the chep that plays on the flute

Calls in te see the fiddler;

They play some grand duet

That aw nivvor can forget,

For they byeth leave the teun clean oot;

Then a lass tyeks her turn te squall,

An' screams as if for murder;

It maybe varry bonny,

Or it may be varry funny,

But aw think it's best at the Hall.

Then the lanlady runs upstairs,

An' kicks up a row wi' the sarvint;

Thor always in het wetter,

Pitter, patter, clitter, clatter,

That aw cannet mind me awn affairs;

But that's not the warst ova',

For at neets thor's ne rest for us

Frae twelve te three o'clock,

Why, it's knock, an' knock, an' knock,

Thor the queerest foaks aw knaw.

NEAR THE MANORS STAYSHUN

AIR-" Black·EJled Susan."

NEAR the Manors Stayshun, one Monday morn,

A young lass stud an' wiped her eyes,

Wi' sobs an' sighs, an' a fyece forlorn,

Her story tell'd, wi' moans an' cries,"

Oh, Charley, Charley, where is Charley noo?

l' the Manors Stayshun, wiv a blaggeyord crew!

"What for becawse did ye gan an' fight,

An' brick poor Micky Murphy's nose?

Hoo was't i' three cairds ye teuk delight,

Te swindle a' that wad stand the dose?

Oh, Charley, Charley, where is Charley noo?

l' the Manors Stayshun, under Captain Blue!

"What for becawse did ye steal the watch,

An' steal poor Tommy Dobson's shart?

Hoo was't the Peelers me luv shud catch,

Te turn me heed an' ring me heart?

Oh, Charley, Charley, where is Charley noo?

It's six munse certain, when his case is throo!

"Ye knaw the bairn that aw hey's yor awn,

Ye knaw that aw've been true te ye,

Tho ye nivvor meant te be me man,

Whe'll keep yor bairn, ay, an' whe'll keep me?

Oh, Charley, Charley, where is Charley noo ?

Till the next Assizes, wiv a blaggeyord crew!"

MAW BONNY INJINEER

TEUN- "Nice Young Man."

"OH, hinny, what myeks ye luck se glad?

A blithesome fyece heh ye;"

"Me sweetheart's oot ov his time the day,

Aw's like te happy be;

Aw've been up tiv his muther's hoose,

He kiss'd us, bliss his heart,

An' tell'd us that on Munday next

As journeyman he'll start."

Korus.

TEUN-" Rasor-Grinder's Daughter."

"For in me heart aw haud him dear,

Aw only wish that he wes here,

Maw brave, maw bonny Injineer,

That's served his time at Hawthorn's.

"His shopmates say he's just the sort

Te fettle weel at owt,

He's a clivor chep an' a handy chep,

An' nivvor aflaid 0' nowt;

The neet thor gawn te hey a spree,

Thor hevin one the day,

But what's the odds? thor jolly lads,

An' last neet wes the pay!

"But still aw wish the spree wes ower,

For then he'll tawk te me,

An' shortly, seun, aw hey ne doot,

His journeywife aw'll be.

His journeywife wi' him throo life,

Aw wish that we war wed,

For then aw's pairtner ov his hoose,

An' pairtner ov his bed!"

"Me darlin's oot ov his time the day,

What news, aw say, for me,

Aw think his muther might need sum help

Te myek them a' thor tea,

An' help her wi' the hoose turns like,

An' gan oot for the beer,

Aw think aw'll gan, it's me place te be

Beside me Injineer!"

back to the song menu
 
 
 

WE'LL SEUN HEH WARK TE DE!

OR, THE STRIKE 0' '71

TEUN-" Nowt te de."

"ON strike!" aw hear them awful words

Repeated i' the street,

"On strike! ne warkt" aw hear agyen,

Frae hundreds that aw meet;

"Three lang munths gyen,-not sattled yit!

Wor hard-up as can be,

It cannet last, thor'll be a change,

We'll seun heh wark te de!"

Korus,

Walkin roond the Market,

 An' walkin doon the Kee,

The only cheerin words aw hear's

"We'll seun heh wark te de!"

Aw see the poor cheps oot on strike

Gan slowly throo the street,

Tho anxshus for the latest news,

Frev iv'ry one they meet,

They keep up one anuther's hearts,

As honest men shud be,

Wi' hopes the day's not distant when

They'll all heh wark te de !

"Mair forrinersl" aw hear them say,

Then one 'ill shake his heed

"They may get plenty men as cheap,

But is't them that they need?

No, no! it's real mechanicks that

A maister likes te see,

Nine oors te him's a better thing,

Gud men his wark te de!

"At hyem thor's nowt but misery,

Where happy days we've seen.

When plenty wark an' plenty keep

Myed a' things luck soreen,

We'll heh them gud things back agyen,

Seun settled we shall be,

Then forrin culls may tyek thor hook

Frae wark they cannet de!"

We'll seun heh wark te de, me lads!

God bliss us a' we will,

Tyneside 'ill yit victorious shine,

Wi' men 0' worth an' skill,

An' happier days 'ill myek the past

A dream 0' what we see,

Men gud an' true 'ill nivor rue,

We'll seun heh wark te de!"

THE CHAPEIN 0' CASSEL GARTH STAIRS!

TEUN- "Billy, me bonny Lad."

Aw warn'd ye've heard 0' wor Johnny,

An eccentric lad is he,

He's sarvin his time as a cobbler

But a snob he'll nivor be;

Tho wi' beuts an' shoes he's suroonded,

For the lot he little cares,

For day-dreams myek him ambishus

Te be Champein 0' Cassel Garth Stairs.

Sum days he thinks he's a booler,

Sweers he can lick Geordy Laws

Or Saint, an' shut Harry Wardle

At ony immoont 0' craws;

He thinks he can beat Stephen Ridley,

An' myek Pete Hewitt say pray'rs,

Tho he nivor says ony his-sel,

He's the Champein 0' Cassel Garth Stairs.

He's such a fellow for chaffin,

He can tawk Jack Spencer dumb,

An' he says that Addy or Bagnall

He cud lick them byeth like fun,

An' one day, whey, he tell'd Mooney

He lairnt Burnett an' Pletts thor affairs,

An' he reckons the strike wes wun

Be the Champein 0' Cassel Garth Stairs.

Johnny says he can beat Bill Walker,

Or Tom Pape ony time he'll swim,

An' Lally at rowin or dancin

Wad heh ne chance wi' him;

He'll play Robie at quoits for a hundrid,

And Jamieson russel for fairs,

If he's as big as Roger Tichborne

THE DEETH 0' RENFORTH!

CHAMPION SCULLER OF THE WORLD.

"Y E cruel Atlantic Cable,

What's myed ye bring such fearful news?

When Tyneside's hardly yeble

Such sudden grief te bide.

Hoo me heart its beats-iv'rybody greets,

As the whisper runs throo dowley streets,

'We've lost poor Jimmy Renforth,

The Champein 0' Tyneside !"

HOD sad, hoo unexpected,

What diff'rent news we thowt te hear,

Till dismay'd an' affected,

Heart-broken mourners cried, "

Jimmy Renforth's gyen, wor greet Champein's gyen,

Iva country strange,-away frae hyem,

We've lost poor Jimmy Renforth,

The Champein 0' Tyneside !"

"Oh, Jim, what myed ye leave us?

What myed ye leave the canny toon?

A journey myed to grieve us,

Ye've gyen wi' the last tide,

An' the oar that fell, the last oar that fell

Frae yor helpless hand, just seem'd te tell

That Deeth wes the greet victor

l' races far an' wide!

"Life lost withoot a warnin,

An' stopt yor short but grand koreer,

Then left us stricken, mournin,

Deprived 0' wor greet pride;

Hoo me heart it beats,-iv'rybody greets,

As the whisper runs throo dowley streets,

'We've lost poor Jimmy Renforth,

The Champein 0' Tyneside!'"