The Newcastle Song Book Part 34

With the Bear, the Horses, and the Dogs, as princ.i.p.al Performers.

It's ha'e ye seen how crouse and gay The lads and la.s.ses bent their way, To see the horses act the play, At fam'd Newcastle Theatre?

There some in silks did proudly shine, And some were dress'd in caps se fine, And some on sticks there did recline, At fam'd Newcastle Theatre.

The belles and beaux of low degree Were eager this fine sight to see; And soon as they had got their tea, They set off for the Theatre.

Then at the gallery door they stood-- Impatient, and in fretful mood; And many a one, faith, did no good By coming to the Theatre.

The doors being open'd, on they push'd, Without distinction they were crush'd; The cry was, Tumble up you must, To fam'd Newcastle Theatre.

Next direful shrieks were heard aloud, Whilst heedless throng'd the busy crowd, Alike the slothful and the proud Were driven in the Theatre.

A miller chep I chanc'd to see Frae out amang the crowd sae blae, Was running up an entry Near fam'd Newcastle Theatre.

He'd got his coat torn cross the lap, My conscience! 'twas a sad mishap; But others still were worse than that, At fam'd Newcastle Theatre.

There some their gowns held in their hand, And others lost their shawls se grand; And if you crush'd not you might stand, At fam'd Newcastle Theatre.

The pretty girls, to get a seat, Crush'd on, wi' hair dress'd up sae neat; But soon came back, in sic a freet, Frae fam'd Newcastle Theatre.

Now some got in without their shoes, And some got in wi' mony a bruise, And some cam hyem to tell the news, At fam'd Newcastle Theatre.

Within the pit a brutish chap Had hit a maiden sic a rap, 'Cause she refus'd to take her hat Off, in Newcastle Theatre.

They took her home without delay, When in a fit she fainting lay; And faith she well may curse the day That e'er she saw the Theatre.

The boxes, too, were fill'd se fine, With all the labouring sons of Tyne; And servant la.s.ses, all divine, Did beautify the Theatre.

The heat was so excessive great, That, not to keep the folk too late, They hurry'd on poor Timour's fate, At fam'd Newcastle Theatre.

The play was done as it struck ten, Some greedy folks said, 'twas a shem; However, they all wet went hyem, From fam'd Newcastle Theatre.

FAREWELL, ARCHY.

Written in 1820.

Tune--"Chapter of Donkies."

Now, Archy, my boy, drop the civical gown, For none ever fill'd it with half your renown, For wisdom and valour so glorious you shine, You're the pride, boast, and bulwark of old coaly Tyne.

O brave Archy, miraculous Archy!

The pink o' the wise, and the wale o' the brave.

To recount all your virtues a volume 'twould swell, So we'll just name a few, sir, in which you excel; Your reign's been eventful, the times have gone mad, And well might have puzzled more brains than you had; But sufficient was Archy, well able was Archy, To crush the sedition and treason of Tyne.

Sure Machiavel's self was a fool to our Mayor, So honest he seem'd--then he promis'd so fair, To reform all abuses, give justice to all, And regulate watchmen, blood-suckers and all.

O specious Archy! legitimate Archy!

The firm, staunch supporter of things as they are.

Then of the Great Meeting,[15] by Jove, what a jest!

The Rads set you down for their chairman at least; But the yeomen and specials in Court you kept hid, Then sent off that precious epistle to Sid.

O rare Archy! sly old Archy!

Archy's the boy for the word or the blow!

O thou first of inditers, thou brightest of scribes, Thy invention how fertile, in infamous lies!

How a.s.sa.s.sin-like was it to stab in the dark, And from truth and from justice so far to depart.

O serpent-like Archy! O fiend-like Archy!

O Archy! but that was a d.a.m.nable deed.

Next you went on a voyage of discovery to Shields, And got handsomely pepper'd for meddling with keels; Then for refuge you fled to Northumberland's Arms, Who till now has defended your paper from harms, Else down had gone Archy, thy paper, dear Archy, Down stairs might have gone for the public good.

Then, for raising a riot, and reading the act, Your honour against all opponents I'll back: And to crown you with laurels, and finish my song, You're a Colonel of Noodles, and nine makes a man, Such as Archy and Cabbage, Canny Jack Dixon, and thief-taking Tom.

Footnote 15: Held on Newcastle Town Moor, Oct. 11, 1819, relating to the Manchester Ma.s.sacre.

SIR TOMMY MADE AN ODD FELLOW.

_A Provincial and very popular Song._

I've sung o' Newca.s.sel till black o' the fyess, Tyne's Muse is as modest as ony; Tho' oft she comes out in a comical dress-- Here she goes for a lilt at Sir Tommy.

Ye've seen him, nae doubt, wi' his hat on ten hairs, Then he cuts sic a wonderful caper; He has long been thought odd, for his kickmashaw airs, Now he's odd baith by name and by nature.

Let Fame canter on till she's sair i' the hips, Proclaiming, frae Tynemouth to Stella, How the sun, moon, and stars a' went into the 'clipse, When Sir Tommy was made an Odd Fellow.

There's scarce sic a man in a' Newca.s.sel toon, With the famous Tyne Legion outsetting: Down at Shields in a fray, they pick'd up sic renoon, That his nyem will nae mair be forgetten.

Tho' envious at valour, yet a' look asquint, What heroes in fame e'er surpa.s.s'd them?

Wi' Sir Tommy before, and the sailors behint, It was run! and the devil take the last one!

Let Fame canter on, &c.

A Knight he was dubb'd for sic sarvices brave, But a Knight without fee is but little: So they sent him to govern[16] where folks rant and rave, A station he fit to a t.i.ttle.

Grand Master of Orangemen next he was call'd, Bells rung till the toon was a' quaking; Now Most n.o.ble Grand of Odd Fellows install'd-- Faicks! it's time a straight-jacket was making.

Let Fame canter on, &c.

That Sir Tommy has wit I wad fain here convince, He can myek sic a thumping oration, By which he astonish'd the Legion lang since, Now he wants to astonish the nation.

By humbug reduc'd, though his head's very lang, His brains scarce wad balance a feather: But just nominate him a Parliament man,[17]

Head and brains will take flight a' thegither.

Let Fame canter on, &c.

O sons o' Newca.s.sel! 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.