For the folks being determin'd, the beef would not handle,
Nor gobble it up like a stye full of swine;
For their conscience did whisper it would be a scandal:
So the stuff was refus'd by the sons of the Tyne.
The next thing I saw was a British young sailor,
He pull'd the crown down from the top of the crane;
Although with brick bats he got many a nailor,
Yet he stuck up a label concerning the Queen.
This bill being put up set the crowd in a motion,
They gave three times three when first it was seen;
And loudly did praise the brave tars of the ocean,
Who fought in defence of their much injur'd Queen.
These things being done, it rais'd such a durdem,
The stones and the brick-bats flew up like a cloud:
A poor Tyne Cossack, that belong'd to Tom Burdon,
Was near crush'd to death as he fought with the crowd.
That day in the town was heard no sound of bugles,
And Bold Archy, he too was ne'er seen iv a';
For if that but once he had brought down the Noodles,
They'd been trod under foot like a bundle of straw.
For so bold are the men about canny Newcassel,
No injustice they'll suffer when assembled a':
If the King had been there he'd ne'er worn his gold tassel,
And as to being crown'd, that would ne'er done iv a'.
The things that were flying appear'd like a battle;
So, afraid of being fell'd, as I stood by the folks,
I on shankie nagie away straight did rattle,
To drag down the street the black bones of the ox.
When I came to the Sandhill my eyes I got open'd,
I saw something standing which brightly did shine;
A large wooden Pant, and a crown on the top o't:
When I came to look close it was running red wine,
The folk that were round it appear'd to be growling
And fighting amongst it like so many cats;
While others I saw among mud and dirt rolling,
And drinking the wine out of old lousy hats.
Thinks I to myself, this is all botheration,
It is but a pretext, I know by their scheme,
To pump out what's left of the wealth of the nation,
To swell the fat bags of the Clergy and King.
The next thing I saw that took up my attention,
Was a keelman quite nak'd! he'd no breeches iv a';
Some said he, for fighting, deserv'd well a pension,
But I think that he ought to've been tried by the law.
The wives that were running fell o'er, tappy lappy,
Town serjeants the keelmen did pelt well with glare;
And swore, if they could but catch Tripy and Cappy,
They would tear them to rags at the end of the war.
Then I by this time nigh got into a quarrel;
I argued, but could not the battle decide;
So dreading some person might tear my apparel,
I took my departure unto the Quayside.
In going down the Quay there was such a crushing—
I met with a man of the name of Tom Dale,
He said, into Sandgate the folks were all pushing,
For the Pant on the hill there was running strong ale.
When I got to Sandgate I could not help laughing,
The lasses were running about with the swipes;
And old wives that fell in the gutter were scruffling,
Ne'er minded, but smok'd on their old cutty pipes.
I next took my journey as for as the 'Spital,
To see if ought curious was there to be seen;
But I think that from Sandgate it differed little,
For the folks were all drinking the health of the Queen.
I went to an alehouse, and nearly got fuddled,
For by walking about sae my legs were quite lame;
So on my old pins then away I straight toddled,
And ne'er look'd behind me, but tramp'd away hame.
At Newcastle there have been both horse and boat races,
I have droll things to tell you, if I had but time;
But having to call at some more bits of places,
On some other day I will finish my rhyme.