Byker-hill and Walker-shore,
Collier lads for evermore!
Byker-hill and Walker-shore,
Collier lads for evermore!
When aw cam to Walker wark,
Aw had ne coat, nor ne pit sark;
But now aw've getten twe or three—
Walker pit's deun weel for me.
Byker-hill and Walker-shore,
Collier lads for evermore!
Byker-hill and Walker-shore,
Collier lads for evermore!
BEGGAR'S WEDDING.
Air—"Quayside Shaver."
When timber-legg'd Harry crook'd Jenny did marry
In fam'd Gateshead town—and, not thinking of blows,
Three ragmen did quarrel about their apparel,
Which oft-times affrighted both small birds and crows;
This resolute prial, fought on battle royal,
Till Jenny spoke this, with hump back and sharp shins:
"Be loving as brothers, as well as the others,
Then we shall get orders for needles and pins!"
The bride-maid, full breasted, she vow'd and protested,
She never saw men at a wedding so rude;
Old Madge, with her matches, top full of her catches,
Swore she would be tipsy e'er they did conclude;
The supper being ended, some part still contended
For wholesome malt liquor to fill up each skin;
Jack Tar, in his jacket, sat close to Doll Flacket,
And swore he'd drink nothing but grog and clear gin.
Black Jack with his fiddle they fix'd in the middle,
Who had not been wash'd since the second of June—
Old Sandy, the piper, told Ned he would stripe her,
If she wouldn't dance while his pipe was in tune:
They play'd them such touches, with wood-legs and crutches—
Old rag-pokes and matches, old songs flew about;
Poor Jack being a stranger, thought his Scratch in danger,
He tenderly begg'd they would give up the rout.
Jack being thus ill-treated, he begg'd to be seated
Upon an old cupboard the landlord had got,—
Like madmen enchanted, they tippled and ranted,
Till down came the fiddler, as if he'd been shot.
They drank gin by noggins, and strong beer by flaggons,
Till they had sufficiently loosen'd each hide,
Then those that were able, retir'd to the stable,
And slept with their nose in each other's backs—e.