There's the Black Bull and Grey Bull, well known to a few,
Black, White, and Grey Horse, and Flying Horse too;
The Black House, the White House, the Hole-in-the-Wall,
And the Seven Stars, Pandon, if you dare call.
There's the Turk's Head, Nag's Head, and Old Barley Mow,
The Bay Horse, the Pack Horse, and Teasdale's Dun Cow,
The Ship, and the Keel, the Half Moon, and the Sun—
But I think, my good friends, it is time to be done.
Then each landlord and landlady, wish them success,
Town and trade of the Tyne, too—we cannot do less;
And let this be the toast, when we meet to regale—
"May we ne'er want a bumper of Newcastle ale."
W. Watson.
A NEW SONG FOR BARGE-DAY, 1835.
Sung on board of the Steward's Steam-boat.
It well may grieve one's heart full sore,
To be in such a movement—
Upon the river, as on shore,
The rage is all improvement:
Once blithe as grigs, our merriment
Is chang'd to meditation,
How we these ills may circumvent—
O what a Corporation!
The Quayside always was too big,
As scullers have attested;
Tant ships, that come with rampant rig,
Against its sides are rested.
Still to extend it in a tift,
They're making preparation,
And Sandgate-midden is to shift—
O what a Corporation!
At Tyne-main once there was a caunch,
And famous sport was found there;
So long it stood—so high and staunch—
All vessels took the ground there;
But, somehow, it has crept away,
By flood or excavation,
And time there you need not delay—
O what a Corporation!