MONKSEATON RACES.
July 1st, 1812.
BY A SPECTATOR.
Six centuries since, some say, a son of South Seaton[79],
Was mulct for a monk he to mummy had beaten;
The prior there pilfer’d the prow of a pig,
And Delaval drub’d well the pillaging prig!
In commemoration of that great event,
Each anniversary in eclat is spent:
Though landlords liege-legates are bound to obey,
That country carousal’s kept up to this day.
A sum by subscription was quickly collected,
As none to contribute their quota objected;
Half-guineas the highest, the lowest a shilling;
And seamen and landmen were equally willing:
Hence hand-bills were pasted up in public places,
To state both the time and the term of these races;
Explaining the prizes, and pastoral plays,
Prolonging these pastimes the space of three days.
The stewards instructed the cash to collect,
Kept debtor and creditor scrolls quite correct;
To purchase such prizes as were preconcerted,
The coin was with consummate caution converted;
To furnish out fun for friends, strangers, and neighbours,
These gents to gymnastics gave gratis their labours;
Lest fair play, by precepts, might not be promoted,
From the racing calendar cases they quoted.
Quaff-cups for quadrupeds accustom’d to courses,
And handsome cart-harness for husbandry horses;
With saddles and bridles for hunters and hacks,
And plate spurs for ponies that pay no Pitt-tax:
Spring whips made for mules, and good armour for asses,
And harlequin habits for lads and for lasses;
Gloves, hats, hose, and handkerchiefs, shirts, shifts, and shoes,
To run, gape, or grin for, as candidates choose.
With multitudes mingled the turf was attended,
Like barley and beans, there the belles and beaux blended;
From town and the country such numbers assembled,
The race-ground a Newcastle meeting resembled;
Which cohorts all creeds and conditions comprised,
And dresses, distinctions, and deserts disguised;
By vintners made vivid, their views became various,
Amusements were many, and mirth multifarious.
The racers (at Watson’s) were regularly enter’d,
And money at booking was formally ventur’d;
A Newmarket rider, rear’d in racing stables,
Conversant in quirks, and acquainted with cabals;
Whose powers of profession were priz’d upon paction,
And principles privately put up to auction:
Some Monkseaton farmers on fraud plac’d affiance,
But saw in the sequel their rotten reliance.
By bribing that brigand, this son of deception
Receiv’d ready rhino, yet made his election;
This presto, his pupils to peasants prefer’d;
In bilking his brethren, the eft would have err’d!
To gull’d speculators, a vulcan as vile,
Stak’d too with turf-students in tangible style,
Till duped delinquents were doom’d through the day,
Their debts of dishonour on peril to pay.
Corruption creeps into both commerce and courts,
Then who can repel it from rural resorts?
As all public places are pester’d with prowlers,
The streets are stagnated with stigmatiz’d strollers;
And some sanguine swindlers, though subtile and snug,
Plunge into the pit they for others had dug;
The same at Monkseaton, the mass must admit,
(With self-satisfaction) “The biters were bit”!!!
[79] South Seaton, so called at the time; but afterwards Monk Seaton, where —— Delaval, Esq. so completely castigated a covetous capuchin as to cause his death; for so doing, however, great part of his possessions were forfeited.—See the History of Tynemouth.
THE ALARM!!!
Or, Lord Fauconberg’s March.
On the commencement of the impress service, in March, 1793, considerable riots took place at Shields, which were represented at Newcastle, in a thousand terrific shapes; and a false alarm having been given at the Mansion House, the drums of the York Militia beat to arms; Lord Fauconberg marched that regiment to the house of Rendezvous in the Broad Chare, and then marched back again.
God prosper long our warlike king,
And noblemen also,
Who valiantly, with sword in hand,
Doth guard us from each foe.
No sooner did lord Fauconberg,
With heart undaunted, hear
That news to Gotham had been brought,
Which caus’d our mayor to fear.
Then up he rose, with eyes on fire,
Most dreadful to the view;
To arms! to arms! aloud he cry’d,
And forth his faulchion drew.
To arms! to arms! full long and sore,
The rattling drums did beat;
To arms! in haste! each soldier flies,
And scours thro’ ev’ry street.
The women shriek, and wring their hands,
Their children weep around;
Whilst some, more wise, fast bolt their doors,
And hide them under ground.
The French are at our gates, they cry,
And we shall all be slain;
For Dumourier is at their head,
And that arch traitor Paine.
In haste drawn up, in fair array,
Our Yorkshire guards are seen;
And mounted on a jet black stud,
Lord Fauconberg, I ween,—
Who bravely gave the word to march,
And furiously did ride;
And prancing first, great Brunswick like,
’Twas well the streets were wide.
From Newgate, down to the Broad Chare,
They march’d with might and main;
Then gallantly they turned them round,
And so “march’d up again.”
Then fill a bumper to the brim,
And drink to Gotham’s mayor;
And when again he hears such news,
May Fauconberg be there.
THE PATRIOT VOLUNTEERS:
OR,
Loyally Display’d.
BY CLARINDA.
In the year 1795, a corps of volunteers were raised in Newcastle, consisting of one grenadier, one light infantry, and two batallion companies, they received their colours in the Forth, from Mrs Mayoress, August 25th, 1795.
There is not in the world’s terraqueous round,
A better king or constitution found,
Than lov’d Britannia’s sea girt Realms can claim,
As rich in Blessings, as renown’d in Fame;
Her laws, and Social Liberty, design’d,
To perfect happiness, and dignify mankind.
These to preserve, through each succeeding Age,
Our Patriot Volunteers with zeal engage.
Behold them brilliant on the shores of Tyne,
Newcastle Heroes Gateshead Heroes join!
All free-born Sons, they Freedom’s Rights defend,
And each to each secures a steady Friend!
Whilst snarling Disaffection slinks away,
These Hearts of Gold true loyalty display;
These Hearts of Gold this Standard Truth proclaim,
Our King and Constitution are the same!
Advance, Brave Men! assert your Country’s Cause,
Exertions only can support her Laws.
For Vigilence, precarious Moments call,
The danger’s obvious, and concerns us All.
A cool supineness, timid hearts may try,
But manly courage must the means supply.
Sue we for Peace? that Peace is surest found,
Where honest fortitude maintains its ground.
We have at home, alas! some secret foes,
Which, well as Frenchmen, valour must oppose.
Though savage Terrorists their Schemes pursue,
And still mislead a blind ungrateful Crew;
Keep ye but firm, the martial Charge to bear,
Your brave Associates and yourselves revere?
Ferocious Monsters must e’er long decline,
And Moderation draw her equal Line:
So shall ye meet a Nation’s highest praise,
And Love and Beauty crown your future Days;
For Love and Beauty ever wait on Fame,
Each Hero’s glory, and triumphal Claim.
Newcastle, Forth House, 1st July, 1795.
CULL, alias SILLY BILLY,
Of Newcastle upon Tyne.
This well known character, William Scott, commonly called Cull Billy, a name known in most parts of the north, is a native of Newcastle, where he resided along with his mother, a poor old woman, who made her living by retailing wooden ware; she like her son was an object of distress, being not above four feet high.
Billy, poor man, oft excited compassion from his fellow creatures, while reciting (which he did with a great degree of exactness, and in such a distinct and clear manner as to surprise many) the Lord’s Prayer, several other prayers, passages from scripture, &c. to a numerous audience of boys; but they generally repaid his endeavours for their welfare with a shower of dirt or stones.
Oft have they followed him around the streets, beating and hooting him, as boys hunt a cat or dog; and yet no notice was taken of this, until one, more compassionate than the rest, stept forward and interceded for him, in the following lines, which were published in the Newcastle Chronicle of the 28th of August, 1802, with the signature of J.S.
Whence those cries, my soul that harrow?
Whence those yells, that wound my ear?
’Tis the hapless child of sorrow!
’Tis poor Billy’s plaint I hear.
Now, in tatter’d plight I see him,
Teazing crowds around him press;
Ah! will none from insult free him?
None his injuries redress?
Fill’d with many a fearful notion,
Now he utters piercing cries;
Starting now, with sudden motion,
Swiftly thro’ the streets he hies.
Poor, forlorn, and hapless creature,
Victim of insanity!
Sure it speaks a ruthless nature,
To oppress a wretch like thee.
When, by generous friends protected,
All thy actions told thee mild,
Tho’ by reason undirected,
And the prey of fancies wild.
Of those friends did Heav’n deprive thee,
None, alas! supply’d their place?
And to madness now to drive thee,
Ceaseless strives a cruel race.
Youth forlorn! tho’ crowds deride thee,
Gentle minds for thee must grieve;
Back to reason, wish to guide thee,
And thy ev’ry want relieve,
O from this sad state to snatch thee,
Why delay the good and kind?
Pity calls them on to watch thee,
And to tranquilize thy mind.
Soon after the publication of this, the overseers of the parish of Saint John’s, (in which parish Billy resided) had him conveyed to their Poor House, without the walls of Newcastle, where he was kept confined until the turbulence of his spirit was reduced.
Several persons have felt the power of Billy’s wit, which on some occasions has been very severe. Once, when a person of the name of —— (not one of the wisest beings of the world) came swaggering out of a tavern, while Bill was haranguing the mob at the door. “Stand out of the way!” cries this would-be great man, shaking his cane in the air, “Stand out of the way! I never give way to fools!” “But I do,” cries Billy, bowing, and instantly stept on the pavement: Mr —— felt the severity of this remark, and instantly made off, leaving the spectators of the transaction almost convulsed with laughter.