Rhymes of Northern Bards / Being a Curious Collection of Old and New Songs and Poems, Peculiar to the Counties of Newcastle upon Tyne, Northumberland, and Durham

by Unknown

A SONG

Written principally by Mr George Pickering, and sung by a Member of the Forest Hunt, Newcastle, at the Conclusion of the Season, March 29th, 1786; and afterwards at the Theatre Royal, by Mr Marshall.

Since Winter’s keen blast must to Zephyr give place,

We resign, for a season, the joys of the chase;

The cry of the hounds and of hunters must cease,

And puss thro’ the woodlands may ramble in peace;

In peace let her ramble, regardless and free,

Till the horn’s cheerful note shall awake us with glee;

Till October returns, let her frolic and play,

And then we’ll pursue her with “Hark, hark away.”

With hark, hark away,

With hark, hark away,

And then we’ll pursue her with hark, hark away!

When ting’d were the hills with the crimson of morn,

We jocundly rose to the sound of the horn;

Triumphant its melody swell’d o’er the plain,

While the heath-cover’d mountains re-echo’d the strain:

Hark, hark! was the mandate, we flew like the wind,

And care’s haggard visage was distanc’d behind:

What joys can be equal to those we display,

When we follow the harriers with hark, hark away!

With hark, hark away, &c.

Like the soldier return’d from a far hostile shore,

Recounting his toils and his victories o’er,

Of the battle’s loud din, where his courage so true,

Obtain’d the green laurel, entwining his brow.

Of chases now past let our narrative be,

Till Winter’s pale hand shall dismantle the tree;

Then, then to the forest exultingly stray,

And cheer the fleet harriers with hark, hark away.

With hark, hark away, &c.

Then fill up your glasses—yet fill as you chuse,

Here’s a health, brother sportsmen, which none can refuse;

A health that with pleasure our club shall inspire,

While hunting delights, or while hounds we admire:—

See, see, how I fill it—’tis Colpitts[66] I toast,

Of our Hunt may he long be the pride and the boast,

And oft may we meet him with joys like to-day,

And long may he lead us with hark, hark away.

With hark, hark away,

With hark, hark away,

And long may he lead us with hark, hark away.

[66] George Colpitts, Esq. of Killingworth, the worthy Master of the Forest Hunt.—He died October 30th, 1793, universally regretted.

---

LONG FRAMLINGTON FAIR,
(OR TRYST)

Established July 15th, 1803.

All lovers of lucre may LAUD the Lord Mayor,

Who was the first founder of Framlington Fair;

Where mankind now mingle, and merchants too meet,

And all in full muster that magistrate greet:

Here stocksmen and tradesmen both traffic and truck,

And prone speculators pursue their purse-luck;

Here contractors cash into cattle convert,

By buying or barter in mayor Millar’s mart.

Here coaches and chariots and chaises abound,

With folks of first fashion from fifty miles round;

Here bucks, bloods, and buffoons, belles, buxoms, and beaux,

Bedizen’d with drapery, and French furbelows:

Here young men and maidens in marriage moods meet,

And crowds of quaint coquets bald bachelors cheat;

Here parents and prattlers are sprightly and smart,

And lads league with lasses in mayor Millar’s mart.

Horn’d cattle, and horses, mules, asses, and swine,

And sheep of all kinds kept ’twixt Tweed and the Tyne;

A skilful collection of choice Cheviot rams,

And also the best breed of bleak border lambs;

Hard hogs from the Highlands, some long, and some short,

And some sightly samples of Leicester sort;

Some South Downs, some Dishleys, some Dorsets, and Harts,

Some Bedfords, and Bakewells, grace mayor Millar’s marts.

This marvellous mayor did some patterns produce,

May prove to the public of infinite use;—

His beasts from the Dearboughts[67]—cow-kyloes, and queys,

Did breeders and feeders and butchers surprise;

Nay, set as a cypher the Long Witton stot;[68]

And credit confer’d on the Kintire Scot,

Who rear’d upon pastures of poor pithless spart,

These magnified monsters in mayor Millar’s mart.

Their dimensions alive, and their density dead,

He measur’d and weigh’d with the eyes of his head,

From the tip of the tongue to the tip of the tail,

In ells and in inches, exact as a scale,

The girt of the sirloin, the centre and crop,

The breadth of the brisket, the bottom and top;

By practice made perfect, precise, and expert,

Surpris’d all the people in mayor Millar’s mart.

A caravan crowded, came here from the east,

With Bengal bred bipeds, and Bot’ney Bay beasts;

Stage-tumblers, and walkers upon the slack wire,

And dancing dogs deck’d out in harlequin ’tire;

Eke, eight British badgers brought back in a box,

The big and the beautiful Berwickshire ox;

With all tricks by slight hand of nature and art,

To add to the eclat of mayor Millar’s mart.

Close by the mayor’s mansion, expos’d are in pens,

A local collection of cocks and of hens;

Ducks, turkies, and pigeons in sunkets are seen,

And pack-sacks presented with grey geese and green:

With well cul’d canaries confin’d close in cages,

And song birds of all sorts and sizes and ages;

Whose quavering chorus both cheer and divert

The cohorts convened at mayor Millar’s mart.

Here potters, with panniers of Stafford and Delph,

And chests of choice china to shine on the shelf;

Here’s hampers of hardware—plate—polish’d and plain,

With all tin utensils of varnish and stain:

Here’s statues of stucco, Dutch trinkets, and toys,

And bawlers of ballads, of nonsense, and noise!

Here cadgers of commerce, commodities cart,

With hucksters and hawkers, to mayor Millar’s mart.

From Morpeth, Newcastle, and London likewise,

The puffers of paste here expose penny pies!

With cheese cakes and custards and other confects,

Of rare aromatics, and summer selects:

Scarce kickshaws more costly can be chew’d with chaps,

Yet somewhat less sav’ry than Silas Swain’s[69] snaps,

Which powerful perfumes to the palates impart,

Of alamode essence in mayor Millar’s mart.

Hotels for highflyers, and Inns little worse,

With good entertainment for man and for horse;

Here’s baskets of butter, beef, bacon, bread, beer,

With fleshers, fishmongers, and other choice cheer,

To buoy up the belly, and burnish the back;

Who have ready rhino need nothing to lack;—

Fairs formerly fam’d now begin to loss heart,

Since all Adam’s offspring prefer Millar’s mart.

Coquetarious.

[67] The name of a neighbouring farm.

[68] The fattest kyloe stot ever killed in the county.

[69] A Confectioner in that town, a man of considerable humour and fun.

---