BESSY OF BLYTH.

"A VIRTUOUS WOMAN IS MORE PRECIOUS THAN RUBIES."

By the Same.--Written in 1826.

In Cramlington we've bonnie la.s.ses enow, With checks red as roses, and eyes black or blue; But Bessy of Blyth I love better than onie-- My heart is still there with my own dear honey.

My uncle says, "Robin, why sure you are mad, To slight Suky Swan--she's worth money, my lad!"

Dear uncle, says I, I'll ne'er marry for money, And none will I have but my own dear honey.

Her face I compare to the blush of the morn, Her breath to the scent of the fresh-blossom'd thorn; For virtue and sense she's not equall'd by monie-- Few, few can compare with my own dear honey.

As in this world of care there is nought we approve, Compar'd to the faithful good wife that we love; To sweeten life's sorrow, the gall mix with honey, I'll wed my dear Bess, and a fig for their money.

KELVIN GROVE.--THE La.s.sIE'S ANSWER.

By the Same--Written in 1827.

To Kelvin Grove we'll go, bonnie laddie, O, Where the sweetest flowers grow, bonnie laddie, O; With my true-love by my side, Of a' the flowers the pride, I'd wander the warld wide, bonnie laddie, O.

When the throstle hails the morn, bonnie laddie, O, We'll wander by the burn, bonnie laddie, O; And we'll rest in the alcove, In bonny Kelvin Grove, Where first I told my love to my laddie, O.

When thou leav'st thy native home, bonnie laddie, O, With thee I mean to roam, bonnie laddie, O; I'll watch thee in the fight, And guard thee day and night, That no mishap alight--on my laddie, O.

In the fatal battle-field, bonnie laddie, O, Shouldst thou thy spirit yield, bonnie laddie, O-- When thy een are clos'd in death, I'll sigh my latest breath, And one grave shall hold us baith, bonnie laddie, O.

But kind should Fortune prove, bonnie laddie, O, And spare us baith to love, bonnie laddie, O: By the stream again we'll rove, In bonny Kelvin Grove, And frae hame nae mair remove, dearest laddie, O.

TO MR. PETER WATSON[8], WHO LAYS POWERFUL BATS ON THE KNAVES WITH FIRE-SHOVEL HATS ON.

By the Same.--Written in 1824.

O Watson! O Watson! what are you about?

What have you been doing to cause such a rout?

'Tis said you've been giving the Clergy a clout; Which n.o.body does deny.

O stop! Watson, stop! O whither?--say whither Directs your bold genius?--'twould seem you choose rather To hammer the Parsons, instead of bend leather; At starting you were not shy.

What tho' the good Clergy for long time have got, At Easter, fat pullets to put in their pot, And ta'en from the people full many a groat, Yet why into this should you pry?

Of matters relating to Church or to State, 'Tis surely not fit you should trouble your pate; Yet still you keep thumping, with spirit elate, As if you would maul the whole fry.

I'd have you respect more the _Lord's_ own _Anointed_, Who over your conscience to rule are appointed, And to whom pigs and pullets are sent to be jointed, And other good things forby.

Repent, then, and quick pay your EASTER DUES, And to _guileless_ Parsons give no more abuse, Or spiritual comfort to you they'll refuse, And this may cause you to sigh!

For things are so chang'd since you rang them a peal, That the Clerk seems afraid through our parish to speel; For he's look'd on no better than one come to steal; Which n.o.body can deny.

The Clerk of St. John's, that he might have good luck, Employed a brave Noodle, whose nick-name is _Pluck_, To collect Easter-pence; but the people had struck-- Few, few were brought to comply.

Now the Parsons to you attach all the blame, O Watson, for saying they had no just claim!

Thus you've brought on yourself their _holy_ disdain; Yet you'll fill a niche in the Temple of Fame, Which n.o.body will deny.

Footnote 8: Peter Watson, of Chester-le-Street, Shoemaker.--This person, for some time, laudably exerted himself to oppose the claims of the Government Clergy to what are called Easter dues or offerings; and by a powerful appeal to the public, succeeded in convincing many that such claims were equally oppressive and unjust, and founded neither in the law nor the gospel.--The late worthy Vicar of Newcastle, Mr. John Smith, actuated with the generous feelings of a Man and a Christian, and with due deference to public opinion, restrained the Clergy in his jurisdiction from collecting these Exactions during the latter years of his life. To him, therefore, and to Peter Watson, in particular, who aroused the public attention to the subject, the inhabitants of Newcastle are indebted for being relieved from this odious, unjust, and oppressive Clerical Tax.

THE NEWCASTLE SUBSCRIPTION MILL.

Tune--"Newcastle Ale."--1814.

While Europe rejoices at Bonny's defeat, And Cossacks pursue him o'er plain and o'er hill, On the banks of the Tyne, in a quiet retreat, I'll write you a ballad about the new Mill, To be built by subscription, of famous description; Ye pale-fac'd mechanics, come join in the club, Whose bowels are yearning at ev'ning and morning, And you will get plenty of cheap, wholesome grub.

The Millers their spite have already display'd, And dusty-mouth'd Meal-mongers pettish are grown, That a plan should be thought of to injure their trade, A Mill that will grind for one half of the town; Where, joyful, you'll hie, for wheat or for rye-- There some trusty fellow your meal-bags will fill; No mixture of chalk[9], your intestines to caulk, But plain, honest dealing practis'd at the Mill.

There's Puff-cake, the baker, too, cries out "Alack!

If this plan should succeed, I'll have customers few;"

And he whinges and whines as he sets up his back To twirl his long rolling-pin over the dough: The theme he resumes, with vexation he fumes, And deems the projector a deep-scheming elf; His customers gone, he'll soon be undone, His mixture compound he may swallow himself.

Of Gripe-grain, the corn-factor, much could be sung, And of Broad-brim, the Quaker, a guilt-spotted blade, Who both in a halter deserve to be strung, For the thousands they've starv'd by the forestalling trade: But some future time may produce a new rhyme, Wherein I propose their true features to draw; Meanwhile ev'ry man give his aid to the plan, And there'll soon be a down-coming market--Huzza!

Footnote 9: About the month of November, 1813, (according to the Courier newspaper) a Victualler for the Navy was convicted in adulterating the biscuit with chalk and Portland stone, and suffered the penalty of a very heavy fine. The audacious fellow afterwards boasted, that he had cleared more money by the practice than the fine amounted to.

LIZZIE LIBERTY.

Tune--"Tibby Fowler i' the Glen."

_By the Same._

Sung at a Meeting of Reformers at the Golden Lion Inn, Bigg Market, Newcastle, on the Liberation of Henry Hunt, Esq. in 1822.

There lives a nymph o'er yonder lea, And O she is a winsome hizzie!