My friends, for your exertions, my heart o'erflows with gratitude,
O may it prove the last time you find me in that latitude;
God knows with what mischances dire the future may abound, sirs,
But I hope and trust I'm one of those not fated to be drown'd, sirs."
Thus ended his oration, I had it from the Barber;
And drippling, like some River God, he slowly left the harbour.
Ye men of North and South Shields too, God send you all prosperity!
May your commerce ever flourish, your stately ships still crowd the sea:
Unrivall'd in the Coal Trade, till doomsday may you stand, sirs,
And, every hour, fresh wonders your eyes and mouth expand, sirs.
And long may Stephen Kemble live, and never may the Barber
Mistake him for a Monster more, deep floundering in the harbour.
THE BONASSUS.
Tune—"Jemmy Joneson's Whurry."
Let Wombwell, James, and a' the pack
Iv yelpin' curs, beef-eaters,
Ne mair about Bonasses crack,
Them queer, outlandish creturs.
Be dumb, ye leeing, yammering hounds,
Nor wi' yor clavers fash us,
For seun aw'll prove wor canny town
Can boast its awn Bonassus.
It chanc'd when honest Bell was Mayor,
And gat each poor man's blessin—
When cheps like G—e, and Tommy C—r
Gat monny a gratis lesson;
Then Bell refus'd to stand agyen,
Tir'd iv the situation,
And ne awd wife wad tyek the chain
Iv a' wor Corporation.
The folks iv Shields has lang begrudg'd
The Custom-house beside us;
This was the time, they reetly judg'd,
To come sae fine langside us:
They had a chep, W——t was his nyem,
To poor folk rather scurvy,
They sent him up wor heeds to kyem,
And turn us topsy turvy.
He seun began to show his horns,
And treat the poor like vassals—
He sent the apple-wives to mourn
A month iv wor awd Cassel.
The timber marchants will ne mair
Wiv ten-a-penny deave us—
They swear iv W——t's to be wor Mayor,
That i' the dark they'll leave us.
The drapers next he gov a gleece,
'Bout their unruly samples—
Bound ower the clouts to keep the peace,
Wiv strings to the door stanchells.
The tatee-market, iv a tift—
(Ye heuxters a' resent it!
My sarties! but that was a shift,)
To the Parade Ground sent it.