Tune—"Arthur M'Bride."
The firing of guns, and the ringing of bells,
Rous'd me from my dreams about magical spells;
So I'll draw you a sketch, as we're now by oursel's,
By way of an illustration:
The roads to Newcastle were cover'd almost,
As if Radical thunder[23] had summon'd its host,
Or an enemy's fleet had been seen off the coast,
On George the Fourth's Coronation.
In the streets what a buz among sweethearts and wives,
And children who ne'er rose so soon in their lives;
All higgledy piggledy through other drives,
To view what was in preparation.
The oxen are roasting—outsides a mere crust;
They're stuff'd wi' potatoes, and dredg'd well with dust,
While the turnspits were set as if working o' trust,
On George the Fourth's Coronation.
I next went to view a Boat-race on the Tyne,
For a blue silken flag skill and labour combine;
Gold sovereigns the prizes—to start about nine,
From Walker, with precipitation.
The Greyhound came first, the old Sandgate-shore Gig,
Which went as if chasing a hare, through the Brig.
No doubt but the wives and the lasses were big,
On George the Fourth's Coronation.
Then the Gentlemen walk'd in procession to church;
Not even Dissenters did lag in the porch,
But boldly push'd on, amid ruffles and starch,
To praise and to pray with the nation.
The service being ended, the anthems are sung,
The burnt sacrifice from each service is swung,
When the fountains with wine and strong ale 'gan to run
On George the Fourth's Coronation.
Then a Female Procession, to heighten the scene,
Paraded the streets, with a bust of the Queen;
When her title was plac'd where a crown should have been—
Upon the crane-top was its station.
Then the Ox was beheaded, and held up to view,
As if he'd done something of Cato-street hue:
A soldier that made his appearance did rue,
On George the Fourth's Coronation.
Then with squeezing and tearing began the dispute;
Some held by the Pant, and some grappled the spout,
Till as drunk as a lord, and as wise as a brute,
At this swine-feeding jollification.
They drank out of hats and old shoes, very keen,
The fights they went round, quite amusing the scene;
While some, in mistake, drank "Success to the Queen!"
On George the Fourth's Coronation.
The battle grew hot, as they flung round the beef,
Disgusted, they sought no Commander in chief;
The fires they demolish'd, while brick-bats and beef
Flew like rockets, in mad desperation.
The Butchers, now thinking their lives very sweet,
Soon threw down their gullies, and beat a retreat;
Not wishing to die, just like dogs, in the street,
On George the Fourth's Coronation.
Upon the Sandhill, where the fountain ran wine,
The keelmen, quite eager to taste of the vine,
Had the Crown taken down, which was thrown in the Tyne,
So fix'd was their determination.
There one, tho' stripp'd naked, so great was his drouth,
Made a new-fashion'd sun-dial, pointing due south,
When the ladies at five of the clock set their mouth,
On George the Fourth's Coronation.
Among the arrivals at Mansion-house gates,
Were the bones of the oxen, the spits, and the grates,
With a keelman, in petticoats, scratching his pate,
For a suit from our rich Corporation.
Had the Den[24] been but open, the people might say,
For Kill-pudding Joe, and the burdies of prey,[25]
This sunshine would brought a fine "harvest of hay,"
On George the Fourth's Coronation.