By Tyne, or Blyth, &c.

Aurora, from the Eastern sky, Her robes the glowing tints upon, Is not so viewly to mine eye As modest Nancy Wilkinson.

By Tyne, or Blyth, &c.

Let sordid misers count their wealth, And guineas guineas clink upon; All I request of Heav'n is health, And dear, dear Nancy Wilkinson.

By Tyne, or Blyth, &c.

GREEN'S BALLOON.

[Messrs. Green ascended in their grand Coronation Balloon, from the Nuns' Field, in Newcastle, four times: the first time, on Wednesday, May 11; second time, on Whit-Monday, May 23; third time, on Monday, May 30; and the fourth time, on Race-Thursday, July 14, 1825.]

Tune--"Barbara Bell."

Now just come and listen a while till aw tell, man, Of a wonderful seet t'other day aw did see: As aw was gaun trudgen alang by mysel, man, Aw met wi' wor skipper, aye just on the Key.

O skipper, says aw, mun, wye where are ye gannen?

Says he, come wi' me, for aw's gaun up the toon; Now just come away, for we munnet stand blabbin, Or we'll be ower lang for to see the Balloon.

Right fal de, &c.

The balloon, man, says aw, wey aw never heard tell on't, What kind o' thing is it? now skipper tell me: Says he, It's a thing that gans up by the sel' on't, And if ye'll gan to the Nuns' Gate, man, ye'll see.

So to the Nuns' Gate then we went in a hurry, And when we gat there, man, the folks stood in crowds; And aw heerd a chep say, he wad be very sorry, If it went to the meun, reet clean thro' the clouds.

Right fal de, &c.

We stared and luik'd round us, but nought could we see, man, Till a thing it went up as they fir'd a gun: Cried the skipper, Aw warnd that's the little Pee-dee, man, Gyen to tell folks above 'twill be there varry suen.

Then a' iv a sudden it cam ower the house-tops, man, It was like a hay-stack, and luikt just as big; Wiv a boat at the tail on't, all tied tid wi' ropes, man, Begox! it was just like wor awd Sandgate gig.

Right fal de, &c.

And there was two cheps that sat in the inside, man, Wi' twee little things they kept poweyin her roun'; Just like wor skipper when we've a bad tide, man: Aw warnd they were fear'd that the thing wad come down; And still the twee cheps kept poweyin her reet man, For upwards she went, aye clean ower the toon; They powey'd till they powey'd her reet out o' seet, man, That was a' that we saw o' this grand air balloon.

Right fal de, &c.

The skipper cam to me, tuik haud o' my hand, man, Says, What do ye think o' this seet that's been given?

Says aw, Aw can't tell, but it's a' very grand, man; Aw wish the cheps byeth safely landed in heaven.

'Twad be a good plan to tyek's up when we're deed, man; For which way we get there 'twill be a' the syem: And then for wor Priests we'd stand little need, man: So me and wor skipper we went wor ways hyem.

Right fal de, &c.

THE NEWGATE-STREET PEt.i.tION

TO MR. MAYOR.

Alack! and well-a-day!

Mr. Mayor, Mr. Mayor; We are all to grief a prey, Mr. Mayor: They are pulling NEWGATE down, That structure of renown, Which so long hath graced our town, Mr. Mayor, Mr. Mayor.

Antiquarians think't a scandal, Mr. Mayor, Mr. Mayor; It would shock a Goth or Vandal, They declare: What! destroy the finest _Lion_ That ever man set eye on!

'Tis a deed all must cry fie on, Mr. Mayor, Mr. Mayor.

St. Andrew's Parishioners, Mr. Mayor, Mr. Mayor, Loud blame the Gaol-Commissioners, Mr. Mayor; To pull down a pile so splendid, Shews their powers are too extended, And _The Act_ must be amended, Mr. Mayor, Mr. Mayor.

If _Blackett-Street_ they'd level, Mr. Mayor, Mr. Mayor, Or with _Bond-Street_[3] play the devil, Who would care?

But on _Newgate's_ ma.s.sive walls, When Destruction's hammer falls, For our sympathy it calls, Mr. Mayor, Mr. Mayor.

'Tis a Pile of ancient standing, Mr. Mayor, Mr. Mayor, Deep reverence commanding, Mr. Mayor: Men of _Note_ and _Estimation_, In their course of _Elevation_, Have in it held a station, Mr. Mayor, Mr. Mayor.

'Tis a first-rate kind of College, Mr. Mayor, Mr. Mayor, Where is taught much useful knowledge, Mr. Mayor: When our fortunes "gang aglee,"

If worthy Mr. Gee[4]

Does but on us turn his key, All's soon well, Mr. Mayor.

In beauty, nought can match it, Mr. Mayor, Mr. Mayor: Should you think we _throw the Hatchet_, Mr. Mayor: John A----n, with ease, (In purest _Portugueze_) Will convince you, if you please, To consult him, Mr. Mayor.

He'll prove t'ye, in a trice, Mr. Mayor, Mr. Mayor, 'Tis a pearl of great price, Mr. Mayor: For of ancient wood or stone, The value--few or none Can better tell than John, Mr. Mayor, Mr. Mayor.

Of this Edifice bereft, Mr. Mayor, Mr. Mayor, To the Neighbourhood what's left?

Mr. Mayor: The _Nuns' Gate_, it is true, Still rises to our view, But that Modern Babel, few Much admire, Mr. Mayor.

True, a building 'tis, _unique_, Mr. Mayor, Mr. Mayor, A charming _fancy freak_, Mr. Mayor: But candour doth impel us, To own that Strangers tell us, The _Lodge_ of our _Odd Fellows_, They suppos'd it, Mr. Mayor.

Still, if _Newgate's_ doom'd to go, Mr. Mayor, Mr. Mayor, To the _Carliol Croft_--heigh-ho!

Mr. Mayor, As sure as you're alive, (And long, sir, may you thrive,) The shock we'll ne'er survive, Mr. Mayor, Mr. Mayor.

Then pity our condition, Mr. Mayor, Mr. Mayor, And stop its demolition, Mr. Mayor; The Commissioners restrain, From causing us such pain, And we'll pay and ne'er complain, The _Gaol-Cess_, Mr. Mayor.

Footnote 3: Now called Prudhoe Street.

Footnote 4: The Gaoler.

BURDON'S ADDRESS TO HIS CAVALRY.

_A PARODY._

Soldiers whom Newcastle's bred, View your Cornel at your head, Who's been call'd out of his bed To serve his Country.

Now's the time when British Tars With their Owners are at wars; And they've sent for us--O Mars!

a.s.sist the Cavalry!

Now, my n.o.ble sons of Tyne!

Let your valour n.o.bly shine; There at last has come a time To shew your bravery.

But, my lads, be not alarm'd!

You're to fight with men unarm'd!

Who in mult.i.tudes have swarm'd-- Before us they must flee!