THE BONNY GYETSIDERS.

Tune--"Bob Cranky."

Come, marrows, we've happen'd to meet now, Sae wor thropples together we'll weet now; Aw've myed a new sang, And to sing ye't aw lang, For it's about the Bonny Gyetsiders.

Of a' the fine Volunteer corpses, Whether footmen, or ridin' on horses, 'Tween the Tweed and the Tees, Deil hae them that sees Sic a corpse as the Bonny Gyetsiders.

Whilk amang them can mairch, turn, an' wheel sae?

Whilk their guns can wise off half sae weel sae?

Nay, for myeking a _crack_, Through England aw'll back The corps of the Bonny Gyetsiders.

When the time for parading nigh hand grows, A' wesh theirsels clean i' the sleck troughs: Fling off their black duddies, Leave hammers and studdies, And to drill--run the Bonny Gyetsiders.

To Newca.s.sel, for three weeks up-stannin, On Parmanent Duty they're gannin; And seun i' the papers We's read a' the capers O' the corps o' the Bonny Gyetsiders.

The Newca.s.sel chaps fancy they're clever, And are vaunting and braggin' for ever; But they'll find theirsels wrang, If they think they can bang, At sowg'rin', the Bonny Gyetsiders.

The Gen'ral shall see they can lowp d.y.k.es, Or mairch thro' whins, lair whooles, and deep sykes; Nay, to soom (at a pinch) Through Tyne, waddent flinch The corps o' the Bonny Gyetsiders.

Some think Billy Pitt's n.o.bbit hummin, When he tells aboot Bonnepairt c.u.mmin; But come when he may, He'll lang rue the day He first meets wi' the Bonny Gyetsiders:

Like an anchor-shank, smash! how they'll clatter 'im, And turn 'im, and skelp 'im, and batter 'im; His byens sal, by jing!

Like a frying-pan ring, When he meets wi' the Bonny Gyetsiders.

Let them yence get 'im into their taings weel, Nae fear but they'll give him his whaings weel; And to Hezlett's Pond bring 'im, And there in chains hing 'im, What a seet for the Bonny Gyetsiders!

Now, marrows, to shew we're a' loyal, And that, wi' the King and Blood Royal, We'll a' soom or sink, Quairts a-piece let us drink, To the brave and the Bonny Gyetsiders.

THE WATER OF TYNE.

I cannot get to my love, if I should dee, The water of Tyne runs between him and me; And here I must stand, with the tear in my e'e, Both sighing and sickly my sweetheart to see.

O where is the boatman? my bonny honey!

O where is the boatman? bring him to me-- To ferry me over the Tyne to my honey, And I will remember the boatman and thee.

O bring me a boatman--I'll give any money, (And you for your trouble rewarded shall be) To ferry me over the Tyne to my honey, Or skull him across that rough river to me.

THE NEWCASTLE SIGNS.

Written by Cecil Pitt, and sung at the Theatre-Royal, Newcastle, by Mr.

Scriven, June 4, 1806.

Should the French in Newcastle but dare to appear, At each sign they would meet with indifferent cheer; From the Goat and the Hawk, from the Bell and the Waggon, And the Dog, they would skip, as St. George made the Dragon.

The Billet, the Highlander, Cross Keys, and Sun, The Eagle and Ships too, would shew 'em some fun; The Three Kings and Unicorn, Bull's Head and Horse, Would prove, that the farther they went they'd fare worse.

At the Black House, a _strong-Arm_, would lay ev'ry man on, And they'd quickly go off, if they got in the Cannon: The Nelson and Turk's Head their fears would increase, And they'd run from the Swan like a parcel of geese.

At the York and the c.u.mberland, Cornwallis too, With our Fighting c.o.c.ks, sure they'd have plenty to do; The Nag's Head and Lions would cut such an evil, And the Angel would drive the whole crew to the devil.

At the World, and the Fountain, the Bridge, Crown and Thistle, The Bee-Hive, and Tuns, for a drop they might whistle; With our Prince, or our Crown, should they dare interpose, They'd p.r.i.c.k their French fingers well under the Rose.

At the Half Moon, the Wheat Sheaf, and Old Barley-Mow, A sup's to be got--if they could but tell how; If they call'd at the Bull and the Tiger to ravage, As well as the Black Boy, they'd find 'em quite savage.

At the Ark, and the Anchor, Pack Horse, and Blue Posts, And the Newmarket Inn, they would find but rough hosts; The Old Star and Garter, c.o.c.k, Anchor, and more, Would prove, like the Grapes, all most cursedly sour.

The Lion and Lamb, Plough, and Old Robin Hood, With the Crane House, would check these delighters in blood; From the Butchers' Arms quick they'd be running away, And we all know that Shakespeare would shew 'em some _play_.

At the White Hart, Three Bulls' Heads, the Old Dog and Duck, If they did not get thrash'd, they'd escape by good luck: At the Bird in Bush, Metters' Arms, Peac.o.c.k, they'd fast, And our King's and Queen's Heads we'll defend till the last.

May the sign of the King ever meet with respect, And our great Const.i.tution each Briton protect; And may he who would humble our Old British Crown, Be hung on a sign-post till I take him down.

THE WONDERFUL GUTTER.

Since Boney was sent to that place owre the sea, We've had little to talk of, but far less to dee; But now they're a' saying, we suen will get better, When yence they begin with the wonderful Gutter,

The great lang Gutter, the wonderful Gutter: Success to the Gutter! and prosper the Plough!

The way how aw ken--when aw was at the toon, Aw met d.i.c.ky Wise near the Rose and the Croon; And as d.i.c.ky reads papers, and talks aboot Kings, Wey he's like to ken weel about Gutters and things; So he talk'd owre the Gutter, &c.

He then a lang story began for to tell, And said that it often was ca'd a Can-nell; But he thowt, by a Gutter, aw wad understand, That's it's cutten reet through a' the Gentlemen's land.

Now that's caw'd a Gutter, &c.

Now, whether the sea's owre big at the West, Or scanty at Sheels--wey, ye mebby ken best; For he says they can team, aye, without any bother, A sup out o' yen, a' the way to the tother, By the great lang Gutter, &c.

Besides, there'll be bridges, and locks, and lairge keys, And shippies, to trade wiv eggs, b.u.t.ter, and cheese: And if they'll not sail weel, for want o' mair force, They'll myek ne mair fuss, but yoke in a strang horse, To pull through the Gutter, &c.

Ye ken there's a deal that's lang wanted a myel, When they start wi' the Gutter 'twill thicken their kyell: Let wages be high, or be just what they may, It will certainly help to drive hunger away, While they work at the Gutter, &c.

There's wor Tyne sammun tee 'ill not ken what's the matter, When they get a gobful o' briny saut watter; But if they should gan off, it's c.u.m'd into my n.o.b, For to myek some amends we mun catch a' the cod, That sweems down the Gutter, &c.

So come money and friends support w.i.l.l.y Armstrang, In vent'rin a thoosan ye canna get wrang; While we get wor breed by the sweet o' wor brow, Success to the Gutter! and prosper the Plough!

The great lang Gutter, &c.