Fill up the cup till the ruby o'erflows it,
Drown ev'ry care in the nectar's rich stream—
If joy's in the goblet, this day will disclose it,
When Trade, Worth, and Beauty, by turns are our theme.
What is, I ask, the toast,
Deepest drunk, honour'd most,
Drunk most devoutly, most honour'd to-day?
What is the pledge that we
Hail first, with three times three?
"Success to our Market!"—Huzza and Huzza!
No longer let London and Liverpool tell us,
Their towns boast of markets so spacious & grand;
We answer, "We pray you, be quiet, good fellows,
We, too, have a Market—the first in the land!"
Fish, flesh, and garden fruits,
Oranges, apples, roots,
There you will find them all, seek what you may;
Honest the dealers, too,
Drink, then, I pray of you—
"Success to the Dealers!"—Huzza and Huzza!
The structure—but why should we speak of its merit?
Enough that we mention the architect's name;
And long may the building, begun with such spirit,
A monument stand of his talents and fame.
Proofs of a master mind,
Talents and taste combin'd,
Are they not every where visible—say?
The architect's pride and boast,
Then be our hearty toast—
"Mr. R. Grainger!"—Huzza and Huzza!
Wreathe the bowl, wreathe it with wit's brightest flow'rs—
Fill, fill it up till the nectar o'erflows;
Never was Burgundy brighter than ours,
Never were eye-beams more sparkling than those.
Surrounded by Beauty's train,
Captives in willing chains,
To eyes that beam witchery, and smiles that betray,
Low at the shrine we bow—
Love claims the homage due—
"The Ladies!—the Ladies!"—Huzza and Huzza!
If spirit, by cost nor by trouble dismay'd—
If bounty unmeted, and free as the dew;
If courtesy, kindness to each one display'd,
May claim our applause, it is owing here now.
Oft in the festive scene,
Courteous and kind he's been,
But never more courteous, more kind than to-day:
Fill then the cup again—
Drain—to the bottom drain—
"His Worship, the Mayor!"—Huzza and Huzza!
THE NEW MARKETS;
Or, Newcastle Improvements.
Believe me now, good foke, what I say is not a joke:
Behold, says cousin Isabel, improvement now is visible,
New buildings you espy, airy, spacious, and high,
And trading chaps are moving round to sell or buy.
When trade was at a stand, and the river chok'd wi' sand,
Caus'd the bodies to assemble, the poor to employ;
Then Johnny off packt, up to Lunnon for an act,
And the manager for market-building, Dick's the boy!
CHORUS.