Where's there a river so fam'd in the nation?
Where's the bold tars that so well grace their station?
Coals, fish, and grindstones—we'll through the world bark it—
And now we ha'e gotten a bonny Fish Market,
March! march, &c.
Oh! did the fish ken they'd be caged like a birdie,
(Euphy, the Queen, singing, "Maw canny Geordie,")
They'd pop out their heads then, should ye only watch them,
And call on the fishermen sharply to catch them.
March! march, &c.
Yet all isn't right, tho'—in time you may hear it;
One week is past, and but one cart's come near it:
The loons above stairs preconcerted the order,
And hinder poor bodies to hawk through the border.
March! march, &c.
Gan to the coast—where the fishermen's weeding—
Gan to the fells—where the cuddies are feeding—
Gan to hell's kitchen—should ye have occasion—
Ye'll see hizzies drinking through spite and vexation.
March! march, &c.
Where's Madgie's troops that so well could shout oysters?
Gone to a convent or nunnery cloisters!
Where's the wee shop that once held Jack the Barber?
Gone to make room for the fish brought to harbour!
March! march, &c.
Then hie to the Custom-house, add to your pleasures,
Now you're well cover'd, so toom the new measures:
It ne'er will be finish'd, I'll wager a groat,
Till they've cut a canal to admit five-men boats!
March! march, &c.
A NEW YEAR'S CAROL,
For the Fishwives of Newcastle.
Tune—"Chevy Chase."