The Newcastle Song Book Part 58

Aw'll never see Mally nor bairns ony mair, For if aw's not deed, aw's speechless, aw'll swear!"

Fal, lal, &c.

Wiv a greet deal to de they gat him to rise; But when he gat up, what was his surprise, When he sought for the hole where the bullet had gyen, But sought it in vain, for he cuddent find yen.

Fal, lal, &c.

"By gock!" out he roars, "aw ken how it's been-- Sic a comical trick, aw's sure, never was seen; Faix, bad as it is, it might hev been wa.r.s.e, It's come in at maw gob, and gyen out at----."

Fal, lal, &c.

JOSSY'S NAG'S HEAD.

Tune--"A rampant Lion is my Sign."

All you who've got an hour to spare, And wish to spend it merry, Go not to houses of ill-fame, Nor sport with Tom and Jerry: Direct your course to Armfield's house, Where none the least alarm feels, Where mirth and fun reign uncontroll'd, All in Josiah Armfield's.

CHORUS.

Then drink about and merry be, Let each one fill his station, And ne'er despise a flowing pot, When bent on recreation.

In winter, when the weather's cold, The pinching frost may starve you, You'll find a fire to your desire, A buxom la.s.s to serve you: Her smiles are like the flowers in May, Her conversation charms weel: Far be the fellow takes her in, While selling drink at Armfield's.

Then drink about, &c.

Now should you know the art of war, The news may lead your mind there; Or if inclin'd to grace the bar, Some of your cloth you'll find there: Mock trials, hot debates go on, Yet seldom any harm feel, The counsellors plead your cause for nought, Law's cheap at Jossy Armfield's.

Then drink about, &c.

Next in the tap-room take a peep, There's eggs and pie-folk dealing; Some try their luck at single toss, And other some are stealing: The bakky smoke ascends in clouds, Yet none will say he harm feels; You'd swear you were near Etna's Mount, Instead of Jossy Armfield's.

Then drink about, &c.

The sailors sing their dangers o'er, When sailing on the high seas; Says Donald frae Fife, "I've left the North, Where Parry wad lost his ideas."

"Come, d--n!" says Durham lad, "leet my pipe, And give us nyen o' your yarn reels; But pay the quart--Ise be the next, We'll hev a spree at Armfield's."

Then drink about, &c.

There's Baggie Will, he sings all fours; And faith he sings it rarely; There's Castle Dean plagues Canny Pit Sark, And sings, he's lost her fairly; The Teazer he provokes the flame, Till a' the house quite warm feels: The Cobbler chaunts the Cuddy sang, Half-c.o.c.k'd, in Jossy Armfield's.

Then drink about, &c.

Box number one's a Tennis Court, For those of fistic valour; And should you want to grace the ring, Must enter as a scholar.

The Hackney drivers stand about, Until their dowps they warm feel; Then drink their purl, and march away-- Huzza! for Jossy Armfield.

Then drink about, &c.

THE APRIL GOWK;

Or, THE LOVERS ALARMED.

A CASTLE-GARTH DITTY.

Tune--"Jenny choak'd the Bairn."

Ye worthy friends of April Gowk, That like a bit o' spree, Pray lay your jargon a' aside, And listen unto me; For love's intrigues disturb the wigs Of most o' men on earth; And so, of late, it caught the pate Of pious Parson Garth.

This worthy man went soon to bed, Upon the last o' March, And what his mind was running on, 'Tis needless now to search; His rib asleep, down stairs he'd creep-- When lo! to his surprise, A pair of boots, below the seat, Stood right before his eyes.

He went to rouse his darling spouse, And said, "You plainly see There's some one here that wants to make An April Gowk o' me.

Oh! dress yoursel', do take the bell, Your petticoat put on: They're now in quod--I hope to G.o.d It's not my brother John."

He took a stick, and follow'd quick Unto the la.s.ses' room: Come out! says she; Come out! says he, The Kitty is your doom!

While on the bell she did play knell, Poor Johnny, pale, came forth, All in dismay, like potters' clay, Stood pious Parson Garth!

A Chamber Council there was held, All in this naked plight; The dire alarm had brought a swarm O' guardians o' the night: In vain they strove to gain his love, His wrath for to appease, He swore he'd have their boxes search'd, And cried--Produce the keys!

They nothing found that he could own-- His heart more callous grew, He tore their caps, destroy'd their hats-- Them on the floor he threw: Like pilgrims setting out, unshod, To prison they were sent, To dread their penance, like the sweep, Until they should repent.

To free the girls from guilt and shame, And have the matter clear'd, Those sweetly serenading "Two- Foot Carpenters"[49] appear'd.

Tho' w.i.l.l.y cannot get his boots, For them he does not care-- They won the day!--"none but the brave Deserve to win the fair."

Should you not know this worthy man-- A man of steady gait, A pensive look affects as tho'

He'd something in his pate: Ambition and presumption too In him have taken birth, And fix'd a stigma on his name-- "The Hydra of the Garth!"

Footnote 49: Cloggers.

THE SKIPPER'S MISTAKE.

Tune--"The Chapter of Accidents."

Two jovial souls, two skippers bold, For Shields did sail one morning, In their awd keel, black as the Deil, All fear and danger scorning.

The sky look'd bright, which prophesied A fair and glorious day, man; But such a thick Scotch mist cam on, They could not see their way, man.

Fal, lal, &c.

They pull'd about, frae reet to left, Not kennin what to dee, man, When poor Pee-dee began to fret, Lest they should drive to sea, man.

Says Geordy, Should wor voyage be lang, We've little for our guts, man; There's nowt belaw but half a loaf, Some tripe, and a nowt's foot, man.

Fal, lal, &c.

They drove as far as Jarrow Slake, When Geordy bawl'd aloud, man Smash! marrow, ye hae been at skuel, Come find our lat.i.tude, man; Gan down into the huddock, Jack, Fetch up the Reading-Easy-- If we should be far off at sea, I doubt it winna please ye.

Fal, lal, &c.

They studied hard, byeth lang and sair, Though nyen o' them could read, man, When Geordy on a sudden cries, Aw hev 'er in my heed, man.

Come, let us pray to be kept free Frae danger and mischance, man; We're ower the bar!--there's nowt for us But Holland, Spain, or France, man!

Fal, lal, &c.