THE KEELMAN AND THE GRINDSTONE.

Not lang since some keelmen were gaun doon to Sheels, When a hoop round some froth cam alangside their keel; The Skipper saw'd first, and he gov a greet shout, How, b----r, man, d.i.c.k, here's a grunstan afloat, Derry down, &c.

d.i.c.k leuk'd, and he thowt that the Skipper was reet, So they'd hev her ash.o.r.e, and then sell her that neet: Then he jump'd on to fetch her--my eyes what a splatter!

Ne grunstan was there, for he fand it was water.

Derry down, &c.

The Skipper astonish'd, quite struck wi' surprise, He roar'd out to d.i.c.key when he saw him rise-- How, smash, marrow--d.i.c.k, ho!--What is thou about?

Come here, mun, and let's hae the grunstan tyen out.

Derry down, &c.

A grunstan! says d.i.c.k--wey, ye slavering cull, Wi' water maw belly and pockets are full; By the gowkey, aw'll sweer that ye're drunk, daft, or doating-- Its nee grunstan at a', but sum awd iron floating.

Derry down, &c.

NEWCASTLE WONDERS;

_Or, Hackney Coach Customers_.

Since the Hackneys began in Newcastle to run, There's some tricks been play'd off which has myed lots o' fun: For poor folks can ride now, that ne'er rode before, The expense is se canny, its suen gettin ower.

Gee, ho, Dobbin, &c.

Mang the rest o' the jokes was a lad frae the Fell, Where he lives wiv his feyther, his nyem's Geordy Bell; For hewin there's nyen can touch Geordy for skill, When he comes to Newca.s.sel he gets a good gill.

Gee, ho, Dobbin, &c.

One day being cramm'd wi' fat flesh and strang beer, Left some friends at the c.o.c.k, and away he did steer, Wiv his hat on three hairs, through Wheat Market did stride, When a Coachman cam up, and said--Sir, will ye ride?

Gee, ho, Dobbin, &c.

Wey, smash noo--whe's thou, man?--How, what dis thou mean?-- I drive the best coach, sir, that ever was seen.-- To ride iv a coach! Smash, says Geordy, aw's willin'-- Aw'll ride i' yor coach though it cost me ten shillin'!

So Gee, ho, Dobbin, &c.

Then into the coach Geordy claver'd wi' speed, And out at the window he popp'd his greet heed:-- Pray, where shall I drive, sir--please give me the name?

Drive us a' the toon ower, man, an' then drive us hyem!

Gee, ho, Dobbin, &c.

Then up and doon street how they rattled alang, Tiv a chep wi' the news tiv aud Geordy did bang, 'Bout his son in the coach, and for truth, did relate, He was owther turn'd Mayor, or the great Magistrate!

Gee, ho, Dobbin, &c.

Aud Geordy did caper till myestly deun ower, When Coachee, suen after, drove up to his door-- Young Geordy stept out, caus'd their hopes suen to stagger, Said he'd paid for a ride just to cut a bit swagger.

Gee, ho, Dobbin, &c.

To ride frae Newca.s.sel mun cost ye some bra.s.s: Od smash, now, says Geordy, thou talks like an a.s.s!

For half-a-crown piece thou may ride to the Fell-- An' for eighteen-pence mair, smash, they'll drive ye to H--ll!

Gee, ho, Dobbin, &c.

Aud Geordy then thowt there was comfort in store, For contrivance the coaches nyen could come before: Poor men that are tied to bad wives needn't stick-- Just tip Coachee the bra.s.s an' they're off tiv Au'd Nick.

Gee, ho, Dobbin, &c.

QUAYSIDE DITTY,

_For February_, 1816.

Ah! what's yor news the day, Mr. Mayor, Mr. Mayor?

Ah! what's yor news the day, Mr. Mayor?

The folks of Sheels, they say, Want wor Custom House away, And ye canna say them nay, Mr. Mayor, Mr. Mayor, And ye canna say them nay, Mr. Mayor.

But dinna let it gan, Mr. Mayor, Mr. Mayor, Or, ye'll ruin us tiv a man, Mr. Mayor: They say a Branch 'ill dee, But next they'll tyek the Tree, And smash wor canny Kee, Mr. Mayor, Mr. Mayor.

And smash, &c.

For ah! they're greedy dogs, Mr. Mayor, Mr. Mayor, They'd grub us up like hogs, Mr. Mayor: If the Custom-house they touch, They wad na scruple much For to bolt wor very Hutch, Mr. Mayor, Mr. Mayor.

For to bolt, &c.

Before it be ower lang, Mr. Mayor, Mr. Mayor, Then ca' up a' yor gang, Mr. Mayor: Yor Corporation chiels, They say they're deep as Deils, And they hate the folk of Sheels, Mr. Mayor, Mr. Mayor, And they hate, &c.

Ah! get wor Kee-side Sparks, Mr. Mayor, Mr. Mayor, Wor Fitters and their Clerks, Mr. Mayor, To help to bar this stroke-- For, faicks, they are the folk That canna bide the joke, Mr. Mayor, Mr. Mayor.

That canna bide, &c.

And egg wor men of news, Mr. Mayor, Mr. Mayor, Wor Mercury and Hues, Mr. Mayor, Wi' Solomon the Wise, Their cause to stigmatize, And trump wors to the skies, Mr. Mayor, Mr. Mayor.

And trump wors, &c.

How wad we grieve to see, Mr. Mayor, Mr. Mayor, The gra.s.s grow on the Kee, Mr. Mayor?

So get the weighty prayers Of the porters in the chares, And the wives that sell the wares, Mr. Mayor, Mr. Mayor.

And the wives, &c.

A Butcher's off frae Sheels, Mr. Mayor, Mr. Mayor, Wi' the Deevil at his heels, Mr. Mayor: Faicks, all the way to Lunnin, Just like a strang tide runnin, And ah he's deev'lish cunnin, Mr. Mayor, Mr. Mayor.

And ah he's, &c.

But Nat's as deep as he, Mr. Mayor, Mr. Mayor.

Send him to Lunnin tee, Mr. Mayor, He has wit, we may suppose, Frev his winkers tiv his toes, Since the Major pull'd his nose, Mr. Mayor, Mr. Mayor.

Since the Major, &c.

And send amang the gang, Mr. Mayor, Mr. Mayor, ARM--what d'ye ca' him--STRANG, Mr. Mayor, Ah! send him, if ye please, The Treasury to teaze, He'll tell them heaps o' lees, Mr. Mayor, Mr. Mayor.

He'll tell them, &c.

If the Sheels folk get the day, Mr. Mayor, Mr. Mayor, Ah what will Eldon say, Mr. Mayor?

If he has time to spare, He'll surely blast their prayer, For the luve of his calf Chare, Mr. Mayor, Mr. Mayor.

For the luve, &c.

Then just dee a' ye can, Mr. Mayor, Mr. Mayor, And follow up the plan, Mr. Mayor, Else, faicks, ye'll get a spur In your Corporation fur, And ye'll plant at Shields wor BURR!!! Mr. Mayor, Mr. Mayor, And ye'll plant at Sheels wor BURR!!! Mr. Mayor.