The anchor let's drop till the weather it clears,
For fear we be nabb'd by the French privateers!"
The anchor was dropt: when the weather clear'd up,
They soon moor'd their keel at the awd Javil Group.
Derry down, &c.
The skipper was vex'd, and he curs'd and he swore,
That his nose had ne'er led him se far wrang before!
But what most of all did surprise these four people
Was, Marsden Rock chang'd into Gateshead Church Steeple!
Derry down, &c.
THE MIRACULOUS WELL;
Or, NEWCASTLE SPAW WATER.[51]
BY R. EMERY.
Tune—"Rory O'More."
A fig for quack doctors, their pills and their stuff,
Our neighbours of them have been tir'd long enough;
E'en Dinsdale and Croft their pretensions withdraw,
And Harrowgate bends to our Newcassel Spaw:
The halt and the blind, and the grave and the gay,
To drink of the water, in crowds haste away;
And gouty old bachelors thither repair,
With Jews, Turks, and tailors, its virtues to share.
Hurrah for Newcassel!—Newcassel for me!
Where ale is so prime, and the lasses so free:
Your lumps, bumps, and rheumatics vanish like snaw,
By one mighty draught of this wonderful Spaw!
One day Cuddy Willy sat down by the spring,
And fiddled and sang till he made the Dean ring;
Then said to the crowd—My lads, as to the Spaw,
Good whisky improves it, aw verra weel knaw!—
But, if you'll be seated, you'll soon hear me sing
The magical cures that's performed by this spring:—
He cut an odd caper, and thus he began—
First drinking a quart from a rusty tin-can.
Hurrah for Newcassel! &c.