A North Shields Song.--Written in 1820.

While Cartwright, and Wooler, and Cobbett, and all The souls of the brave attend Liberty's call, J----n T----ley, the best friend of kings since the flood, Is ready for slavery to spill his best blood.

A press so licentious--for 'twill tell the truth-- Is truly distressing to T----ley, forsooth: He's a foe to the Queen, and no wonder he should, Since he vows for oppressors to spill his best blood.

What an excellent orator in his own way, Mechanics, Shoemakers, and Joiners do say: But he does not remember that Drones steal their food, Were it not for the Becs he would have no best blood.

The Loyalist party consumptive are grown, Though time-serving T----ley the fact may disown: And it will not be long--G.o.d forbid that it should!

Ere Reform freeze the springs of T----ley's best blood.

THE NEWCASTLE NOODLES.

BY JAMES MORRISON.

Be easy, good folks, for we're all safe enough, Better fortune seems now to attend us; And two canny fellows, both l.u.s.ty and tough, Have rais'd a new corps to defend us.

Men sound wind and limb, good sighted and stout, That can fight well, without being daunted; Free from all diseases, such like as the gout, And can jump, or be ready when wanted.

CHORUS.

Then if any invaders should dare us to fight, Let it be on the sh.o.r.e or the river, Bold Archy the Noodle, and Tommy the Knight, Will guard and protect us for ever.

The Noodles have ne'er been at battle as yet, Nor been brought down by scanty provision; So to try them whenever his worship thinks fit, He'll find them in famous condition.

In all their manoeuvres there's scarcely a flaw, They're quite up to the science o' killing; For the Noodle drill Serjeant's a limb o' the law, And an old practis'd hand at the drilling.

Then if any invaders, &c.

Misfortunes, however, will sometimes attend, For one morning, by danger surrounded, A poor fellow splinter'd his fore-finger end, And, of course, in the service was wounded.

'Tis true a sair finger's a very bad thing, But it didn't diminish his beauty; So the next day he just popp'd his arm in a sling, And, Briton-like, went upon duty.

Then if any invaders, &c.

They have all been abroad, and as far too as Shields, But to walk there was no easy matter, So, for fear that their boots should go down in the heels, They took the steam boat down the watter.

Their warlike appearance was awfully grand, When they fired, it sounded like thunder, Which put all the natives o' Shields to a stand, And left them for ages to wonder.

Then if any invaders, &c.

What a pity they cannot get medals to buy, greatly would add to their grandeur; "There's Waterloo soldiers!" the strangers would cry, And think Archy was great Alexander.

These mighty Preservers if death cannot save, But send one or two of them b.u.mmin; The rest o' the Noodles would fire o'er his grave, And tell the below-folks he's coming.

Then if any invaders, &c.

BRITISH JUSTICE;

_Or, Newcastle Privy Court_.

Come, all ye Britons who delight In Freedom's sacred cause, And boast the Triumphs of your Sires, Of just and equal laws, Wrung from a Despot's feeble grasp, List to this tale of mine, In baseness which you cannot peer, Since the days o' Lang Syne.

To fam'd Newcastle's Secret Court A poor unlucky wight Was, for the sake of b.a.s.t.a.r.dy, But very lately brought: Where, tortur'd most ingeniously, The rogue was made to whine, As few have been for sporting so, Since the days of Lang Syne.

In vain the culprit urg'd his cause, In eloquence of woe; In vain he urg'd his poverty, To save him from the blow: Regardless of his just complaint, His judges laid the fine, So great as few poor dogs could pay, Since the days of Lang Syne.

Now mark the justice of the Judge, Precisely at the time-- A gentleman was brought to him, Just for the self same crime; To whom the Judge, in alter'd tone, Begg'd he would not repine, Such ills are common to the rich, Since the days of Lang Syne.

Suffice it, these two sinners were, Tho' in the same degree Of guilt, adjudg'd a fine to pay, The ratio one to three: The man of rags was made to pay Three times a greater fine; And sunk in misery, sent to think On the days of Lang Syne.

Thus, Britons, are your laws dispens'd, Your boasted freedom's gone, Laid in your predecessors' graves, Or from the island flown: No longer Justice holds her seat, In majesty divine, In British Courts presiding now, As in days of Lang Syne.

In vain you strive to wander back To times of peaceful joy, In vain you hope times to recall, Lost in eternity; No, never shall those scenes return, No more shall Britain shine, As she was wont, so splendidly, I' the days of Lang Syne.

Can then Eternal Justice sleep, Regardless of the prayer Of toiling millions sunk in debt, And driven to despair, By stern Oppression's iron hand, Oh! no, the Power Divine Shall plead our cause as heretofore, In the days of Lang Syne.

THE MISFORTUNES OF ROGER & HIS WIFE.

BY J. B.

Tune--"Calder Fair."

Last week was wor pay-week, and aw went to the toon, Alang wi' wor Susy to buy her a new goon; A sixpence i' my pocket--we cuddent pa.s.s the Close, But went into the Robin Hood and gat worsels a dose.

Wiv a tooral, looral, looral, &c.

Suen after we gat canny, and com alang the Brig, An' up the Bottle-bank, man, we byeth sae went the rig, Wi' reelin' and wi' dancin'--"knacking heel and toe,"

Our heads began to rattle where wor feet before did go.

The Half-Muin Lyen we com te, and that wor Susy found, For ower the stanes she fell, man, that's lyen all around, A daver, a devisher agyen the metal pump, And aw, to save poor Susy, got a duckin' i' the sump.

Ower anenst the Dun Cow, there is a place myed reet, As good for breaking necks, man, as ony i' the street; Had e'er an inclination been for leading me astray, I'm conscious that aw'd fund maw end by coming up this way.

The biggest house i' Gyetshead projecting o'er the road, Dis scarcely leave a footpath to pa.s.s on, if you would: Were it not for the gas leet that's on the other side, Mony windpipes wad be clos'd, aye, and mony open'd wide.

A little farther up the street, abuin au'd Jackson's Chare, A neatish bit o' dournament began, as pa.s.sing there, For ---- ---- a ---- wi' guise an' shop-board new, Is cabbaging at Pleasant ---- to patch his Waterloo.

But the worst of a' these evils, is their planning o' the street, Aye, sic a shem an' bizen, were but decent folks te see't; For here's a hill, and there's a hill, and here they're pullin' doon, And here they're buildin' up, (who's fault?) the _only_ fuils i' toon.

Thus onward we were pa.s.sin', thro' trouble and thro' strife, Scarce caring what misfortune had Roger and his Wife: But ere we gan that way agyen, we'll grease our soles and heels, To scamper down by Sunderland, and up by smoky Sheels.

NEWCASTLE THEATRE IN AN UPROAR,