There's native bards in yon town,
For wit and humour seldom bet
And they sang sae sweet in yon town,
Good faith, I think I hear them yet:
Such fun in Thompson's voyage to Shields,
In Jimmy Johnson's wherry fine—
Such shaking heels, and dancing reels,
When sailing on the coaly Tyne.
Here's thumping luck, &c.
Amang the rest in yon town,
One Shiels was fam'd for ready wit—
His "Lord Size" half drown'd in yon town,
Good faith I think I hear it yet:
Then Mitford's muse is seldom wrong,
When once he gives the jade a ca',
And Gilchrist, too, for comic song,
Though last, he's not the least of a'.
Here's thumping luck, &c.
May the sun shine bright on yon town,
May its trade and commerce still increase,—
And may all that dwells in yon town
Be blest with fond, domestic peace;
For, let me wander east or west,
North, south, or even o'er the sea,
My native town I'll still love best—
Newcastle is the place for me.
Here's thumping luck, &c.
W. Watson.
DANCE TO THY DADDY.
Tune—"The little Fishy."
Come here, my little Jackey,
Now I've smok'd my backey,
Let's have a bit crackey
Till the boat comes in.
Dance to thy daddy, sing to thy mammy,
Dance to thy daddy, to thy mammy sing;
Thou shalt have a fishy on a little dishy,
Thou shalt have a fishy when the boat comes in.
Here's thy mother humming,
Like a canny woman,
Yonder comes thy father,
Drunk, he cannot stand.