Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 16 May 17 - 10:29 PM

BAGNALL AN' TAYLOR

AIR "Sally Lee."

YE Tyneside lads that's fond 0' sport,
Cum lissen unte me,
Aw'll sing 0' men byeth gud an' true,
Such as ye'll seldum see:
Aquatic sport's the forst 0' sport,
It's champeins ye'll agree
Cawse sensayshuns that ne uther
I' the world canivor de.

Korns.

An' its gan on, Bob, lad i-a puller grand is he,
An' Taylor as a trainer, his like ye'll seldum see,
Besides thor byeth gud oarsmen,
An' when such two combine,
Where will ye find a pair te beat
Wor champeins on the Tyne.

Jimmy Taylor's won mair matches
Then many a champein's deun,
l' skiffs, or pairs, or fower-oars,
He's nearly always wun;
He's browt mair champein oarsmen oat
Then ony iver did,
His gen'ralship licks a' the world,
An' whe hes a chance wid?

Byeth England an' America
Knaw Jimmy Taylor weel;
As Renforth an' Tom Winship's mate
He'd always bravely peel;
Ay, an' noo he's .got Bob Bagnall,
A canny quiet lad,
Like aud "Honest Bob,"-detarmin'd,
He's not easy te be had.

Bob Bagnall's willin for the world
Te try thor strength wi' him,
An' he'll always be supported biv
His frind an' trainer,
Jim; An' when the champeinship cums off,
Aw hope we'll not repine,
But find young Bob, THE HERO,
Hailin frae the Coaly Tyne.


-Source: Joe Wilson, (author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 17 May 17 - 08:26 AM

THE CHANGES 0' LIFE

TEUN- "It's time te get up."

JIM CARR wes only a poor man's son,
But a happy lad wes he,
He pass'd the days iv his patched-up claes,
Wiv a heart byeth leet an' free;
Ne trouble te cawse a moment's pain,
An' as blithe as he cud be,
He'd laffan' sing-"Aw wish a' the world·
Wes only as happy as me!"

The time flew by, an' he went te wark,
An' the forst change there he knew,
Wi' hearty will he displayed his skill,
An' a tidy workman grew;
He wes seun forst-class,-wi' honest pride,
An' a fyece lit up wi' glee,
He'd sing at wark-"Aw wish a' the world
Wes only as happy as me!"

Frev a man te maister noo he turn'd,
An' a brisk gud trade had he,
The orders poor'd in at iv'ry side,
Ay, far mair then he cud de;
An' frinds com roond him wi' open hands,
At least "thor a' frinds," thowt he,
An' gladly sung-" Aw wish a' the world
Wes only as lucky as met"
But swindlers com roond as weel as frinds,

An' a bankrupt seun he turn'd,
Cast off be them that profess'd the most,
Ay, neglected, robb'd, an' spurn'd;
He lay i' jail, wiv a doon-cast heart,
An' he wish'd that he wes free,
An' sung-" Iv a two-fyeced world like this,
Is thor not one true {rind te me!"
At last relieved frev his weary cage,

As journeyman he begun,
Gud fortun once mair clung tiv his side,
An' maister he wes seun;
The mair he myed-the mair trade he got,
Till independent was he,
An' then he sung-" Aw wish a' the world
Knew just only as much as me!"
"When aw diddent need a single frind,

Aw had plenty then," said he,
"But when aw did i' me hard-up times,
Not a one com up te me,
Aw'Illuck te me-sel, tho a selfish man
Aw divvent intend te be,
An' still sing on-Aw wish a! the world
May nivor de warse than met"

-Source: Joe Wilson, (author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 17 May 17 - 09:41 AM

THE COBBLERS' SPREE!
(FOONDID ON FAX.)

TEUN- "Sal and Methusalam."

N00 iv a' the sprees that ivor ye saw,
Or ivor ye heard aboot,
Thor's one aw's sure that licks them a',
An' tyeks thor shine clean oot;
Three cobblers that aw's ackwented with,
One Monday left thor wark,
An' iv a weel-knawn public-hoose,
They kick'd up such a lark.

Korus

An' such a spree, whey, ye'll seldum see,
Where ivor ye may be,
For iv a' queer sprees, nebody sees
Owt like a cobblers' spree.

Thor funds wes thrippince-hap'ney, just,
The whole 0' what they'd got,
A pint was ordered-then browt in,
An' thrippince paid the shot;
A hap'ney noo wes a' they had left,
What cud they for a smoke de?
But ye wad lafft te seen a happorth
0' baeey sarve the three!

The pint wes drunk-they wanted mair,
So one wad sell his hat,
An' sixpence for the kadey teuk,
An' then they spent the sprat;
As a mark 0' luv tiv his UNCLE,
A chep's coat wes kindly sent,
Then two bob, like the sprat before,
Like leetnin com an' went.

But not content,-they wanted mair,
So one, a queer aud man,
Wad tyek his troosers off, an' let
Them heh them oot te pawn;
For want ov anuther pair, the sarvint's
Peddickit he put on,
"Whe's a Heelander noo?" says he,
"Bedad, an' it's me that's one!

Time wore on, an' the cobblers' wives
Thinkin thor men oot late,
They a' set off te the WAX-ENDINN,
Wi' minds myed up te wait,
The chep that had the peddickit on,
Te pieces wes nearly torn,
An' when the wives agreed te stop,
They kept up the spree till morn.

-Source: Joe Wilson, (author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 17 May 17 - 09:52 AM

THE SANDGATE LASS AN' THE GYETSIDE LAD!

TEUN-" The Upper Ten."

THE Sandgate lass is as canny a lass
As ivor a body can see,
Ye'll hey heard us sing 0' her before,
For they call her Sally Lee;
An' the Gyetside lad he's a reglor brick,
He's a forgeman at Hawks's noo,
An' lang he's followed the Sandgate lass,
As a couple thor's nyen mair true.

Korus.

An' the Sandgate lass an' the Gyetside lad's
As happy a pair as thor can be had,
An' the foaks i' byeth cities 'ill be se glad
When they see them get married next Monday.

Says Sally te Bill, wiv a sigh, tuther day,
"We hevint as yit got a hoose,"
Says he, "We'v,e byeth a hoose 0' wor awn,
An' whativor wad be the use 0' thinkin
0' that when it's noo the time
That us two shud be myed one?
Ye can cum te wors an' aw'll cum te yors,
So consider the job it's deun!"

"But, Bill, if we shud hey ony bairns,"
Says she, "then what cud we de?"
Says he, "Ye can stop wi' yor muther,
An' aw'll cum an' stop wi' ye!"
Says she, "But, Bill, that wad nivvor de,
Aw's sure it wad lower ye doon,
For when clear 0' strife, each man an' wife
Shud byeth leeve i' one toon."

Says he, "Then is Sandgate not the syem
As Gyetside when yor Bill's there ?"
Says she, "It's just the syem te wor-sels,
So ye think we needint care;
But oh, the neybors 'ill say such things,
Aw wadn't like ye for te knaw,
An' if ye'll not myek us a real wife,
Aw'll not get married at a'!"

Says Bill,-an' then he wiped his eyes,'
"Aw wes just for fun tryin' ye,
Whey, aw've got byeth hoose an' furnitor,
As grand as ony can be,
When Gyetside an' yor city unites,
It'll put Ii the world at peace,
An' we'll myek't wor aim for hyem an' fame,
A fine cross-breed tiv increase!"

-Source: Joe Wilson, (author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 17 May 17 - 12:23 PM

JACK'S LUCK.

AIR-"The Fyerey Clock Fyece."

OR, hinny, heh ye seen wor Jack,
Oh, hinny, heh ye seen him?
Ye knaw that he's a reglor black,
So divvent attempt te screen him;
A few weeks since, the silly feul,
Drew all his brass an' got se full,
He lost it a', the slaverin cull,
An' what de ye think 0' Jack's luck?

A pollis copt him on his beat,
That knew his clivor swagger,
Wi' mony a push frae left te reet,
Jack seun began te stagger;
An' twenty shillins he had te pay,
An' when they did let him away,
He got far warse that vary day,
An' what de ye think 0' Jack's luck?

The next day he went te the Moor,
Te back a chep at boolin,
An' what aw say's quite true, aws sure,
His bad luck still kept rulin ;
He went an' he laid agyen the crack,
But the crack wes ower much for Jack,
An' the bool knockt him fiat on his back,
An' what de ye think 0' Jack's luck?

He went te Gyetside Borough Grund,
Te back a flyin' runner,
For sum grand clivor tip he'd fund,
An' swore it wes a stunner;
But the vary chep he backt te win
Wes last ova' when they com in,
Jack lost his watch besides his tin,
An' what de ye think 0' Jack's luck?

He went an' sell'd his furnitor,
Te try an' bring back losses,
Awoften wundor hoo he dor
Defy se many crosses;
He backt a horse te win a·race,
But like his luck-this wes the case,
It tummil'd doon, an' lost last place,
An' what de ye think 0' Jack's luck?

The last grand bet he myed, an' he
Can give us ne denial,
He laid a quid a week wad de
Te finish the Titchborne trial;
Noo Jack at nowt 'ill ivor stick,
For the way he says he'll de the trick,
Whativor he gets he'll hey on tick,
An' what de ye think 0' Jack's luck?

-Source: Joe Wilson, (author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 17 May 17 - 12:45 PM

BOB THE BEUK TRAVELLER

BOB SMITH lost his job, an' he cuddent fall in
Wiv anuther se ready or handy,
So he thowt he wad just try the beuk trav'lin dodge,
An' myek money, an' seun be a dandy;
So he got a big stock frev an agent he knew,
The finest ov ivry edishun,
Then he drest his-sel up iv his best Sunday claes,
An' set off on his wark, on commishun.

He reckond for sartin that myest ov his frinds
Wad give him a greet thumpin order,
For he'd got a collecshun thor fancies te suit,
Byeth the Life 0' Christ, Hist'ry, an' Murder;
But sum had ne money,-an' sum had mair sense
Then te tyek in a beuk wi' ne endin,
Not even wi' them foaks that nivvor pay owt,
Cud Bob myek a bissiniss extendin.

So he went tiv a village not far frae the toon,
Thinks he, "Aw'll be successful yit, man,"
An' the forst time he open'd his parcel o' beuks
Wes i' the hoose ov a canny aud pitman;
He show'd them the pictors te dazzle thor eyes,
An' then tawk'd aboot hist'ry an' hivvin,
But when he had finish'd, the pitman gov thenks
For the sarmin Bob gratis had given.

Then he tried a new tack i' the varry next hoose,
Siclowpeedees noo got Bob's greet praises,
But a gud templor says, "Sic low pee dee's tawk here,
Me man, aw can tell ye 'ill raise us!"
"Next week," says anuther, "ye can bring us Bell's Life,
Or the Sportsman ye may bring us one day,
For them's the two papers aw only tyek in,
An' aw care for nowt else on a Sunday!"

The next hoose he call'd at, nebody cud reed,
An' the bairns nearly spoil'd a' his pietors,
Bob put them away wiv a sad, heavy heart,
An' cursed all his gud-fortun predictors; Says he,
"A job like this wants plenty 0' cheek,
An' for that, whey, just noo aw's not wishin,
But before aw start next aw'Il heh wages put doon,
An' a salary besides a commishun!"

-Source: Joe Wilson, (author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 17 May 17 - 12:58 PM

MOONEY'S WEDDIN!

AIR.-"Kiss me Quick."

THE bellman wes sent roond the toon,
Te let foaks hear his voice
Annoonce that Mooney,
King 0' Sweeps,
That day wad wed his choice;
An' ivrybody clapt thor hands,
An' myed the whole toon ring
Wi' joy,-but still aw thowt aw heard
The Sweep's intended sing:

Korus.

De ye think aw'lI blush for bag an' brush,
If ye de, whey, yor a spooney;
Luv's voos aw'll keep true te me sweep,
Gud luck te me an' Mooney!

The morn wes wet, still croods flockt roond
The hoose that held the pair,
An' cabs an' cairts afore the door,
Myed a' the peepil stare,
Wi' sweeps drest up like lords se grand,
An' "happy as a king,"
The bridegroom's man struck up the teun
The fair bride liked te sing
De ye think, etc.

At last te church the jolly crood,
As hearty led the way,
An' such a scene wes nivvor seen
Be priest like that that day;
The foaks wad tawk far mair nor him,
When he put on the ring,
An' little held the marry thrang
l' church that day te sing
De ye think, etc.

At last at hyem amang wor-sels,
Jim Kane wad playa teun,
An' then Jim Renforth sung a sang,
An' then the fun begun;
For Mooney an' his canny wife's
Gud happiness te bring,
We drunk thor hilths a hundrid times,
Besides we'd often sing
De ye think, etc.

We left them just as happy as
We'd met them i' the morn,
An' hoped we'd find them just the syem,
Whenivor we'd return.
But time's gyen by, an' noo a bairn
Te the happy pair'll cling,
Wi' dad an' mammy biv its side,
It often hears them sing
De ye think, etc.

-Source: Joe Wilson, (author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 17 May 17 - 01:08 PM

YE WADDENT ACT BADLY TE ME '?

AIR-" The Sezoi« Masheen."

Two little bairns sat on a law door-step,
A little bit lad an' a lass,
An' the little lass cried wiv a heart-broken cry,
That aw cuddent for a' the world pass,
When aw heard her say wiv a sob an' a sigh,
An' a fyece full 0' sorrow te see,
"Oh, Johnny, me fethur an' muther's falI'n oat,
An' it's seldum aw see them agree."

Korus.

"Ye waddent act badly te me?
No, ye waddent act badly te me,
What gud wad it de te ye or te me?
Ye waddent act badly te me?"

"They've fittin a' day,-de ye hear the noise
0' thor tungs an' thor hands at war?
Aw's flaid te gan in when thor at it se bad,
An' away aw'd be ivor se far;
But away frae them cud aw find ony joy?
No! no! aw wad mis'ribbil be,
For still thor me fethur an' muther the syem,
An' aw wish they cud only agree."

"What a queer thing foaks shud fite i' that way,
When they've leev'd tegither for eers,
Ye wad think they wad fill a' the hoose wi' smiles,
I'steed 0' se mony sad tears;
Can ye think that foaks grown up shud fall oot?
When little bairns like us agree,
An' oh, Johnny, lad, cud we ivor fall oot?
Ye wad nivvor act badly te me?"

"Oh, Meggie, me lass," says the little bit lad,
"De ye think we cud ivor heh words?
Tho me fethur an' muther 'ill quarrel like yors,
Aw'm sorry te see thor discords;
But oh, Meggie lass, if we leeve te grow up,
An' man an' wife ivor shud be,
Aw's sartin ye'll nivvor vex me wi' yor tung,
An' aw waddent act badly te ye!"

Aw've thowt 0' that neet when aw heard this crack,
Since then mony a eer's gyen by,
Thor byeth grown up an' wed, but the life they leed
It's the syem weary story an' cry;
For examples they've seen i' the days lang past,
Myeks them that they can nivvor agree,
Wi' the words that they utter'd completely forgot,
"Oh, ye waddent act badly te me! "


-Source: Joe Wilson, (author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 17 May 17 - 01:24 PM

THE SAILOR AN' THE BOBBY

TEUN-"Peg's Trip te Tynemouth."

CUM lissen, a' me merry men,
Te what ye'll just hear noo an' then,
It licks nine cases oot o' ten,
This one aboot the Bobby, O.
He knew a widow smart an' neat,
That had a beer-hoose 'lang the street;
So ivry neet when on his beat,
A frindly call myed Bobby, O.

He thowt sum day he'd lanlord be,
An' actwilly he myed se free,
Efter closin time he'd hey a spree,
An' thowt he did it nab by, 0;
For spungin he thowt he wes reet,
An' liked it better then his beat,
He thowt if he proposed one neet,
She'd not refuse her Bobby, O.

But lang had she a sweetheart had,
A jolly Jack tar wes her lad,
He thowt it waddent be se bad
Te spoil the Bobby's hobby, 0;
So one neet iv his sailor's claes,
He goh the Bobby ivry praise
An' mair drink than he'd had for days,
It stupefied poor Bobby, O.

When Bob got drunk Jack got him doon,
Then changed thor claes se varry seun,
He bravely marched reet roond the toon
Wiv his prisoner, Bobby, 0!
He laid him at the Stayshun door,
Where Bobby seun begun te snore,
It myed anuther Bobby roar
"Here's a drunken sailor, nobby, 0!

He teuk him up,-then teuk him in,
Where Bobby pleaded for his sin,
The time the sailor went te win
The widow, Bobby's hobby, 0;
The sailor's case wes fairly wun,
The widow quite injoyed the fun,
But Bobby noo wes quite undeun,
He wes ne mair a Bobby, O!

-Source: Joe Wilson, (author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 17 May 17 - 01:35 PM

THE CANNY PORTER POKEMAN

TEUN- "I comeFrom sweet Killarney."

SAYS Peg, "Maw Jim's a canny lad,
As canny as can be,
An' thor's not a porter pokeman
Says owt else on the Kee ;
He works as hard as ony man,
An' spends his brass as free:
Aw cuddent like anuther lad,
He thinks se much 0' me.

Korus.

He's a nobby porter pokeman on the Keeside,
An' frae Blaydon reet doon te the sea-side,
Thor's not one that's better spoken
Then me canny porter pokeman,
An' he's just the sort 0' lad te follow me.

He carries loads wad brik the back
Ov ony uther man,
An' mony a time he briks a heed
He nail'd me uncle Dan
For sayin that he wassent gud
Eneuff te marry me,
Becawse aw've kept an oringe stall
Se lang upon the Kee.

They say he's ower fond 0' Nell
That sells the fish doon by ;
A' they sweer that at sum barmaid
He alwayswinks his eye;
But if the barmaid fancies him,
He'd nivvor want his beer,
For aw knaw if he's ivor short,
Aw always find him here.

Thor's not a couple that ye see
Can dance like him an' me,
We knockt about a duzzin ower
One neet at Thomson's tea;
He likes his gill, an' so div aw,
An' when wor on the spree,
Aw'd like te see a duzzin try
Te knock doon him an' me.

Aw'd like te see him marry me,
If not it's just the syem,
Aw waddent fall oot wiv him
If he diddent change me nyern;
As lang as he'sel dissent change,
He's gud eneuff for me,
Nebody hes owt te de wid,
Maw pride's upon the Kee."

-Source: Joe Wilson, (author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 17 May 17 - 01:59 PM

CHARITY!

A POOR aud wife, iv a lonely room,
Sits biv hor-sel i' the darknin gloom;
I' the grate thor's just the faintest spark
Te frighten away the dreary dark.
There she sits till she totters te bed,
An' mony a day this life she's led;
Withoot a frind te cum near te speak,
She's starvin on fifteen-pence a week.
The parish allows her half-a-croon !
Half-a-croon i' this fiorishin toon !
Fifteen-pence she pays for the rent,
Hoo is the fifteen left te be spent?

Wi' prayer she welcums the mornin's leet;
Welcums the leet, tho' it bringsne meat;
Welcums the leet 0' the mornin gray,
Te sit biv hor-sel the lang weary day:
Tho' wishin her awn poor life away,
She clings tid still while she hes te stay;
For, oh, she knaws that she dissent disarve
Te finish her days like this-te starve!
An' ninety eers, if she leeves te see,
In a few short munths her age 'ill be;
Withoot a frind i; the world te say"
Canny aud wife, hoo are ye the day? "

Can ye compare this case te yor-sel?
An' bring te mind what aw cannet tell,
Yor daily wants that ye daily seek,
Supplied on the fifteen-pence a week.
Is this not eneuff te myek ye fear
Yor-sel an' bairns when yor end draws near?
Hopeless, helpless, she's not te complain,
But pine away in hunger an' pain.
Wad she iver dream that she'd leeve te see
An' poverty feel hard as it can be?
Thor's nowt te nourish, or nowt that cheers,
Her poor aud sowl i' declinin eers.

Wimmen 0' charity! Men 0' sense!
Hoo can she spend her fifteen-pence?
Can she afford te buy a bit coal
Te warm her hands, an' her heart console?
Hoo can she get what she stands i' need
Wi' hardly eneuff te buy her breed?
Oot 0' the poor-rates heavy they seek,
She's starvin on fifteen-pence a week.
The parish allows her half-a-croon!
Half-a-croon i' this florishin toon!
Fifteen-pence she pays for the rent,
Hoo is the fifteen left te be spent?

[Mrs. E., the subject of the above verses, during the latter end of 1873,
was unfortunately run over near Earl Grey's Monument, having her leg
broke through the accident, which renders the poor old woman doubly helpless.]

-Source: Joe Wilson, (author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 17 May 17 - 02:17 PM

LOCKT OOT AN' LOCKT IN!

TEUN- "Says aw, says he."

BILL HADDOCK he got se awful drunk,
His wife she lockt him in,
Says she tiv hor-sel,
"He'll get ne mair yell,
An' for once he mun put in the pin."
Bill Haddock he fell fast asleep,
Before she had left the door,
An' i' dreams he thowt the best thing he cud de,
Wes te hey a jolly gud snore.

Korus.

It's a clivor thing for a wummin te de,
Te lock her gud man in,
An' gan away i' glee an' hey a jolly spree,
An' spend the whole 0' the tin.

When she fund him asleep she went away,
An' she got as drunk as him,
Says she, " Aw've a reet for a fuddle the neet,
So fill us a glass te thebrim!"
An' she thowt hor-sel se varry safe,
A pickpocket close at hand,
Got haudov her key as a bit ova spree,
An' myed her the whole drops stand.

But she fund it wesgettin ower late,
So she thowt it wes best te gan
Tiv her awn gud hyem for the sake of her nyem,
An' lie wiv her awn gud man.
But when she got up te the door,
She fund the key wes gyen,
So she gov a greet knock, nivvor mind what o'clock,
It wes time te be in bed then.

Oot the windowhe popt his greet heed,
Says he, "What de ye want there?"
Says she, "Aw'm here, an' aw've been on the beer,
So cum doon or aw'll pull yor hair!" Says he,
"If ye hevint the key,
Ye can just stop there where ye are,
For aw've got nyen, so ye had better gan hyem
Te yor muther's, an' that's not far."

Says she, "Ye greet unfeelin brute,
De ye mean te keep us here cawd?
If ye'll not let us in aw'll kick up a din,
An' the foaks 'ill declare yor mad!"
Says he, "Will ye not let us oot?
For aw hevint the key inside;
Ye can gan te the divvil, if yor not varry civil,
An' when ye get there, there bide!"

As stupid as she was, there an' then
She went an' borrow'd a key,
An' open'd the door, an' knockt him on the floor,
An' said, "De ye think that 'ill de? "
But he gov her back such a smack
On the nose wiv an aud baccy chow,
An' the story it shows be the smack on her nose,
Drunken couples thor in for a row!

-Source: Joe Wilson, (author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 17 May 17 - 03:53 PM

CUM TE MAW SHOP
A RECITATION FOR GROCERS AND PROVISION DEALERS

AT morn, when frae yor bed ye rise,
Ye shrug yor shoolders, rub yor eyes;
What d'ye want te calm, refresh?
Wi' soap a gud an' hearty wesh;
Then ready for yor mornin's feast,
A cup 0' coffee warms the breest :
For soap an' coffee aw excel
Aw'm startin business for me-sel,

At noon, when frae yor daily toil
Yor freed te dine-the pot i'boil
Wi' broth, at hyem, yor heart 'ill cheer,
Gud dinners myek the hoose mair dear,
But broth, withoot thor's plenty peas
An' barley i' them, seldum please;
For barley, peas,-green, whole, an' splet,
Cum te maw shop, the best ye'll get. .

Then Time flees on wi' 'lectric wings
Till tea-time, hoosehold cumfort brings;
Each happygroop sits doon te tea,
A plissent, hyemly seet te see;
But plissent chat seun turns abuse
Withoot thor's sugar in the hoose;
For sugar-lump an' soft, wi' tea,
Thor's nyen keeps half as gud as me.

Then supper-time cums roond at last,
Aw wish 'twes here-aw cannet fast;
Wi' tea or coffee, nowt can beat
A slice 0' bacon, gud an' sweet;
A piece 0' cheese might de as weel,
Content wi' either ye wad feel;
Just try maw shop, it's sure te please,
Maw bacon's what ye call the cheese.

What is't ye aw se often need?
What is't that myeks the best 0' breed?
The Staff 0' Life, ye'Il guess, aw'ssure,
Wad nivvor been withoot gud floor;
But breed, like ivry other thing,
Needs butter, so its praise aw'll sing:
For floor an' butter-salt an' sweet,
Aw sell the best iv any street.

Then Sunday cums-wi' frinds te tea,
When spice-kyeks fiorish, weel-te-de;
When corns an' raisins, floor an' lard,
Share i'the hoosewife's kind regard;
The finest raisins, lard, an' corns,
An' a', the weel-fill'dhoose adorns;
Aw nivvor brag-but gud an' cheap,
The parry best on orth aw keep.

-Source: Joe Wilson, (author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 17 May 17 - 04:02 PM

WOR GEORDEY'S KALLINDOR. (FOR LAST EER.)

IN JENEWARRY,aw wes bad:
The snaw an' sleet had gien us cawd.

In FEBREWARRY, i' the fog,
Tom Purvis com an' stole me dog.

In MAIRCR, aw went an' booled Jack Kidd,
An' tried te loss-but cuddent did.

In YEPRIL, aw wes bad wi' pains,
Browt on throo drink an' heavy rains.

In MAY, te bet aw did begin,
An' backt a horse that diddent win.

In JUNE, aw had ne better fate,
Aw backt the last un i' the" Plate."

IN JVLY, at the West End Park,
Aw danced a polka-what a lark!

IN AWGUST, aw'd te stor me shins,
Wor Peg was put te bed wi' twins.

SEPTEMBER com :-aw got the sack,
Throo fuddlin wi' me Unkil Jack.

OCTOBER:- I' one mornin dark,
Aw'm sad te say, aw started wark.

NOVEMBER myed me hands quite hard,
Aw broke styens i' the prison yard.

DISSEMBOR browt us oot 0' there;
Aw'll 'nivvor strike a Bobby mair.

-Source: Joe Wilson, (author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 17 May 17 - 08:53 PM

MEGGIE LEE!

TEUN-"Trust to Luck."

MEGGIE LEE, Meggie Lee,
Yor as mean as can be,
Tho yor kind te yor-sel,
Yor ne gud wife te me.
Aw nivvor imagined
Ye'd turn oot a springe,
Such a miserly body,
A rnis'rable whinge.
Aw've had coffee for brickfist,
Me dinner, an' tea;
An' the hard-hearted crust's
Gien the teuth-ake te me.
Meggie Lee, Meggie Lee,
Will me wages not sarve
Ye te leeve weel yor-sel,
Withoot myekin me starve?
Meggie Lee, Meggie Lee,
Yor as mean as can be,
Tho yor kind te yor-sel,
Yor ne gud wife te me.

Meggie Lee, Meggie Lee,
Heh ye myed it a rule
For me aud pocket-hanksher
Te sarve for a tool?
Then me shart's nivvor wesh'd,
An' me stockins all holes,
An' the sheets on the bed's
Just as black as sma' coals,
Ye once blackt me beuts
But ye nivvor mair need,
For ye polished them byeth
An' the grate wi' black-leed,
Meggie Lee, Meggie Lee,
Then me baccy's ne joke,
If a happorth aw chow,
It sarves twice for a smoke.
Meggie Lee, Meggie Lee,
Yor as mean as can be,
Tho yor kind te yor-sel,
Yor ne gud wife te me.

Meggie Lee, Meggie Lee,
De ye mind 0' the day,
When, wearied wi' wark,
Aw se soond asleep lay?
An' the time aw wes sleepin,
Ye greesed a' me mooth,
Till quite famished aw waken'd
Wi' hunger an' drooth:
Awaxt for me dinner,
An' ye said, "Ye greet loon!
Whey, yor gob proves ye had it
Afore ye lay doon!"
Meggie Lee, Meggie Lee,
Gies ne mair 0' yor brags,
For ye knaw that the bairn's
Half-starved an i' rags.
Meggie Lee, Meggie Lee,
Yor as mean as can be,
Tho' yor kind te yor-sel,
Yor ne gud wife te me.

-Source: Joe Wilson, (author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 18 May 17 - 09:00 PM

THE WILLINGTON WEATHER PROPHET

TEUN-" Pull away Cheerily."

THOR'S sum men that's born te be weel celebrated,
An' aud Tommy Williamson fairly licks a';
Thor's nyen se renoon'd as the Weather Predictor,
He beats all eccentrics that ivor aw saw.
Aw've seen him drest up wiv a hat an' a band on't
A reed, white, an' blue, that wad dazzle yor eyes;
At pic-nics, or owt that 'ill cawse a sensashun,
Aw've thawt he wes king 0' the foaks that's se wise.

Korus.

Thor's sum men that's born te be wee! celebrated,
But aud Tommy Williamson fairly licks a';
Thor's nyen se renoon'd as the Weather Predictor,
He beats all eccentrics that ivor aw saw.

His mem'ry wad baffle the best 0' gud scholars,
He nivvor forgets brickfist, dinner, an' tea,
An' wi' the lang brush he's a stunner at danein,
Besides a fine singer, an' fond ov a spree;
Ye'll see half-a-column sumtimes i' the papers,
Where he tells ye what days 'ill be wet an' what dry,
An' for gein ye the gud ov such grand informashun,
The Willington Prophet ye'll nivvor find shy.

He wrote his awn hist'ry te please his ackwentinse,
An' tells ye that Norton wes where he wes born,
He's been a man-sarvint tiv a' kinds 0' farmers,
His adventors sum lybory beuk wad adorn ;
He menshuns what kortships he's had iv his lifetime,
An' tells ye what fine-luckin lasses he's had;
But wiv all his greet fancy for Jenny an' Nancy,
He says that his Sarah wes pick 0' the squad.

But Sarah's departed, an' left Tommy wifeless,
He langs for anuther te fill up her place;
But Tommy, i' kortin's, knawn nowt but misfortin,
Yor sympathy give tiv his pitiful case;
He's knawn what it is te be completely jilted,
Wiv a' his greet knowledge he knew less then sum;
For he'd nivvor heh thowt ov agyen gettin married,
If he cud hey prophesied what wes te cum.

Aw've often heard mentioned, but mind it's a secret,
That the foaks j' the coonty intend for te raise
A moniment grand te the mem'ry 0' Tommy,
When he's deed, just as fine an' as high as Earl Grey's;
But lang may he leeve, lang may we see Tommy,
May he nivvor knaw what a storm is at hyem;
If he marries agyen, may they myek plenty prophets,
An' leeve a young Tommy te keep gud his nyem

-Source: Joe Wilson, (author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 18 May 17 - 09:10 PM

HER FETHUR KEEPS A KEUK SHOP!

TEUN-" The Happy Land of Erin."

AW'M myest settled noo for life,
For aw'm gawn te tyek a wife,
An' her fethur's gawn te giv his bisniss tiv her;
He's independent noo,
He's as rich as any Jew,
Throo the keuk shop that he manages se clivvor.

Korus

Her fethur keeps a keuk shop;
An' monya lad aw knaw
Te win me Mary's hand they've often sowt her;
But aw'Il use the knife an' fork
Te byeth mutton, beef, an' pork,
Like the aud man, when aw wed his canny dowter.

Iv'ry day at twelve o'clock,
Ye shud only see them flock
Roond the coonter, for the canny man te sarve them;
Frae the joints that's smokin het,
If a smell ye only get,
It 'ill please yor eyes an' nose te see him carve them.

Ye shud see them feast thor eyes
On the soop, the meat, an' pies,
For such hungry-Iuckin customers surraand him;
But he's ower wide awake
Te myek any greet mistake,
His aud-fashin'd fyece 'ill show they'll not confoond him.

He's seun gawn te retire
Frae the keuk shop an' its fire,
Aw'll succeed him,-an' ne better cud be sowt for;
A fortin noo he's myed,
So his dowter gets the trade,
An' it's a sartinty it's me that gets the dowter.

The mysteries ov the pies
An' the sassages aw'll prize,
Aw heh ne call te tell the neybors what we trade on;
"Where ignorance is bliss"
Informashun brings distress,
So it's best for folks te knaw nowt what thor made on.

-Source: Joe Wilson, (author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 18 May 17 - 09:24 PM

THE LEAZES PARK!

TEUN-" The Fiery Clock-Fyece."

"CUM, hinny, divvent stop an' talk,

But try for once te please us,
An' wi' yor lad just hey a walk
Te the Park that's on the Leazes;
Cum, howay, show yoi bonny goon,
An' there ye'll see the greetest boon
That's ivor been gein te the toonIt's the
Park that's on the Leazes.

Korus

"Then howay, hinny, cum away,
It's a treat that's safe te please us;
Wor sure te spend a happy day
I' the Park that's on the Leazes.

"Such happy couples there ye'll see,
Drest i' the hight ov fashun,
Wi' sparklin eyes, like ye an'me,
Lit up wi' true luv's pashun;
In hundrids they'll aroond ye pass,
'Mang trees an' fiooers, and real green grass,
Where lass seeks lad, an' lad seeks lass,
l' the Park that's on the Leazes;

"Besides, ye'll see the bonny lake
Iv all its grand completeness,
Where sportive ducks yor eye 'ill tyek,
An' sparrows chirp wi' sweetness;
Where ivrything's se weeIlaid oot:
The Island, an' all roond aboot;
Where Sunday claes cum frae the' spoot'
Te the Park that's on the Leazes,

"Thor's seats an' shelter for us tee,
Eneuff te rest the mony,
Where aud foaks there may sit an' see
Young generashuns bonny;
Where married foaks can meet thor frinds;
Where oot-door plissure here extends;
Where pride an' dress thor half-day spends
I' the Park that's on the Leazes.

"Noo, them that call'd it 'Hamond's Pond'
I'll wundor at the pictor,
Shut up they mun for bein fond,
Or else aw's ne predictor:
For seun the park'ill spreed se wide
That ivryone can boast wi' pride
Ne toon can beat war awn Tyneside
An' the Park that's on the Leazes."

-Source: Joe Wilson, (author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 19 May 17 - 10:04 PM

NANNY'S PORTRAIT; OR, PAST AND PRISSINT

A RECITASHUN

ONE neet beside the fire aw wes sittin, camly smokin,
Dreamin nearly ivrything, an' nowt porticklor, tee;
Me eyes fell on the pictors that wes hingin close abuv us,
An' awcuddent help reflectin on the changes that we see.
A likeness 0' me muther's cussin seemed te dare inspection,
Wiv its glarin, gawdy eullors that cud only bring te mind
Me attempts at myekin pictors when at scheul, nowt but a laddy,
Aw wes always spoilin paper wi'just paintins 0' that kind.
They called this thing a portrait that wes hingin there se brazend!
Awetter-cullor'd work ovairtl-aw lafft the mairawsaw'd.
Thinks aw, whey,yor a fashun that 'illnivvor mair be wanted,
An' aw'll nivvor hey anuther beauty like ye if aw knaw'd.


Next me eyes fell on a pietor (aw caned pictor for a bynyem!)
Awwundor'd whe had ivor teun the trubbil for te framed.
It was meant for Bill, me unkil, at least, so Aunt Bessy tell'd us;
"Then he mun heh been a blacky, aunt!" aw laffinly exclaimed.
For whereivor aw cud see the likeness iv a black piece 0' paper
Clagg'd ona bit 0' pyest-board, an' stuck up agyen the wall,
Aw cud nivvor yet imadgin, tho, mind, not for want 0' tryin;
Thinks aw, if Bill's a beauty, te see'd here the chance is small.
An' they called this thing a portraitl-'twes hingin there se black-like, .
Luckin like a paltry plaything, an' not even worth the nyem:
For its reet nyem's "Imposition," myed te catch greenhorns that fancy
They can trace a faint risemblance where ne likeness hes a hyem.
Next me eyes fell on a portrait byethweel worth the name an' notis,
An' it seemed te knaw the place it held, te shem them biv its side;
It myed us bliss Photography, that wonderful invention,
For the pictor wes eneuff'te filla fellow's breest wi'pride.
Then the likeness wes se bonny, an' se strikin, an' se lifelike,
Whey, in fact, 'twes just the model 0' me canny sweetheart Nan!
Aw cud fancy her beside us, an' cud nearly think her speakin,
An' me heart beat high te think sum dayaw'd be her awn gudman!
Aw mind the day that it wes teun, aw thowt a' wimmin simple,
Except i' hoosehold duties, where thor always quite at hyem:
She teuk an oor te get her hair put up in proper order,
An' blushed when she went i'the place as if she thowt a shem.


The artist tell'd her just te luck at one place for a minnit,
But she niver teuk her eyes awayfrae that spot a'the time;
She kept them there while he wes dein sumthing i' the cupboard,
Where photographic artists work thor mysteries sublime.
When it was seen, Nan's eyes wes starin like two cheeny sawsors;
He tried anuther, when she had two heedsinsteed 0' one;
She squinted i'the next un ; an'the chep wesfairlybothered.
Says he, "If ye'll keep still, in half-a-minnit aw'll be deun."
At last she did keep stiddy.an'her bonny eyes they glissen'd
When she saw the pictor finished that's se varry dear te me;
But seun aw'll hev its marrow in the hoose, alive, beside us,
An' aw'll bliss the happy pictor that thor's sartin for te be.

-Source: Joe Wilson, (author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 19 May 17 - 10:14 PM

THE CHAMPEIN OF ALL CHAMPEINS

AS SUNG BY THE AUTHOR IN THE MUSIC HALLS

TEUN-" Babylon is Falling."

l' THE bloom 0' life he left us,
Wi' thowts 0' nowt.but vict'ry,
He cross'd the greet Atlantic wiv his crew;
Nivvor dreamin 0' misfortin,
Till Deeth's dreed visitation
Struck helpless the grand fellow that we knew.

Korus

Gyen frae the hyern we knaw he liked ee weel!
Gyen frae the frinds that held him ivor dear!
We've lost poor Jimmy Renforth,
The Champein ov all Champeins,
The hero of all rivers, far an' near.
Wiva crew byeth brave an' manly,

The frinds that he had fancied,
He started on a journey myed te pain,
An' bring sorrow, sad an' weary,
Te hearts that least expected
They'd hear a bard gie vent i' mournful strain.
Gyen frae the hyem, etc.

Oh! Jim, what myed ye leave us?
What myed ye leave the Tyneside
Te meet yor deeth se sadly, far away?
An' hearts wes fairly broken,
Te hear thor gallant Champein,
l' Harry Kelley's airms, se lifeless lay.
Gyen frae the hyem, etc.

Ye cruel Atlantic Cable,
What fearful news ye browt us,
What different tidings we expected here;
Till dismay'd an' affected,
We heard a fearful whisper
Run throo the toon like leetnin, far an' near.
Gyen frae the hyem, etc.



-Source: Joe Wilson, (author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 19 May 17 - 10:24 PM

ALECK HOGARTH.
CHAMPEIN OF THE WEAR.

TEUN-" Aull sing ye a Tyneside Sang."

IN Sunderland let's sing,
What shud myek the whole hoose ring,
It's a sang that's sartin a' the lads te cheer,
For it gladdens ivry toon,
When thor natives gain renoon,
An' aw'll sing ov one that's deun se on the Wear.

Kurus

An' oh, me lads, it myeks me heart se glad,
Te sing ye a sang te please ye here,
Then, give a hearty cheer For the Champein of the Wear,
Ay, a hearty cheer for Aleck on the Wear.


Thor's not one that's pull'd an oa,
Iv his day, or yit before,
That wes better liked then Aleck Hogarth here,
For he's one amang the few,
That's been always game an' true,
An' strite forward, hes the Champein of the Wear.

Then he's foremost i' the brave,
When thor's ivor lives te save,
An' thor's mony a hoose this day'd been sad an' drear,
If it haddent been for him,
When for life an' deeth he'd swim,
An' the bravery he display'd upon the Wear:

He's a canny quiet man,
An' it's always been his plan,
As an honest one, te pull throo his career,
An' thor's nyen ye can select
That's disarvin mair respect
Than brave Aleck Hogarth, Champein of the Wear.

-Source: Joe Wilson, (author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 20 May 17 - 08:53 AM

GOSSIPIN NANNY BROON.

TEUN- "Mally Dunn."

"WHAT'S kept ye oot se lang, me lass?
What's kept ye i' the street?
Aw saw ye tawkin te Nan Broon,
Aw thowt ye'd stop a' neet,
Aw warn'd she's tell'd ye a' the news,
For gossip gies her life;
Sit doon, an' let's hear what she said,
She's such a tawky wife! "

Korus

For Nanny Broon knaws a' the toon,
The neybors' joy an' strife,
She knaws far better then tbor-sels:
She's such a queer aud wife.

"Whey, man, she says that Geordey Hall's
Gyen sairly te the bad;
An' Mistress Thompsin's dowter Meg's
Gawn daft aboot her lad;
An' Harry Hedley's gyen te sea;
An' Tommy's oot on strike;
An' Betty, te get married's teun
A man she dissent like.

"She says Mall Johnson's left her place,
She thinks she's got the bag;
An' Kelly's Sunday's dinner wes
A paltry bit 0' scrag;
An' Fanny Nelson's furnitor's
Been sell'd te pay the rent;
An' Mistress Bradley's eldest son
Last week te jail wes sent.

"She says thor wes anuther row
In Pilgrim Street last week;
An' Geordey Bell's a nice young chep
If it wassent for his cheek;
Bell Wilkey's gawn te be confined:
Her sweetheart's ron away,
An' sweers the young un issent his,
An' he's not gawn te pay.

"She says Meg Dunn's got married, an'
lt issent ower seun;
l' few weeks' time she's bund te hey
A dowter or a son.
Her muther wes the syem way held
Before young Peg wes born;
It's only reet her dowter shud
In trubble tyek her turn.

II She says it's time the world shud end,
When it's se full 0' sin;
An' Peggy Wood wad sell her sowl
For half-a-pint 0' gin.
Hoo Janey Todd can get such dress
Few ladies cud afford,
Nan says she winnet even guess,
Or iver say a word."

-Source: Joe Wilson, (author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 20 May 17 - 09:06 AM

THE MUSICAL LANLORD'S FAREWEEL

TEUN-"The Whole Hog or None."

FAREWEEL, maw kind Newcassel frinds, aw's gannin far away,
Aw's gan te leeve the canny toon, an' prood am aw te say
Aw've myed me fortun i' the hoose where ye've spent meny a neet,
Aw's gan te turn professor an' a teacher tee complete.

Korus

Bruther fiddlers a', like me, rnyek lots 0' money,
Aw's gannin doon te Sheels,
Te teach an' play cudreels,
An' aw'll let them see the tallint thor cums frae the canny toon.

Fareweel, maw country patrons, for ne mair ye'll hear us play
"0, Nanny, wilt thou gan wi' me?" wi' canny" Auld Robin Gray;"
Ne mair ye'll hear the "BIue Bells" soond, that often pleased ye weel,
Or imadgin that i' "Com Rigs" hoo delighted ye wad feel.

Fareweel, maw cat-gutscrapin frinds, awhevint time te stay,
As the minnits are departin fast, play seconds while ye may;
Ye'l! miss yor leader, lang wi' me yor tallents ye've display'd,
An' bonny teuns an' pleasin' soonds tiv eager ears convey'd.

Solos se high aw've often play'd an' charm'd ye wiv each note,
But if ye want te hear us still, cum doon i' train or boat,
An' there ye'll see the young foaks dance, as teacher aw'll appear,
An' fiddlin thraw me legs aboot like harlekinse queer.

Fareweel, me frinds, hoo sad awfeel te say the last gud-bye,
Hoo often when aw Ieeve ye ye'll imadgin that yor dry,
An' aw'll not be near te cheer ye wi' beer, an' jigs, an' reels;
But lads, aw'll often think 0' ye when aw gan doon te Sheels.

-Source: Joe Wilson, (author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 20 May 17 - 09:22 AM

SEEKIN FOR A HOOSE

TEUN- "The Pawnshop Bleezin."

I' THESE days hoo can poor foaks leeve?
Increasin popilayshun
Myeks hundrids wundar where they'll get
A humble habitayshun;
They nivvor build for poor foaks noo,
Withoot the rent's a reglor screw;
Iv a' the wearyj obs aw knaw,
The greatest plague amang them a'
Is seekin for a hoose, man.

War Peg an' me, one mornin' seun,
Te better war condishun,
Set off,wi' spirits high wi' hope,
Upon this expedishun.
Iv a' the windows, Peg, maw pet,
Teuk ivry paper for a "Let":
Byeth "Ginger Pop" an' "Home-made Breed"
Wes all as one-she cuddent read,
When seekin for a hoose, man.

Says one, "Ye'd better call agyen!
Ye'd better see the maister !"
So throo the street, till he arrived,
Content we had te slaister ;
He stared at us when he earn in,
Says he, "Are ye byeth clear 0' sin,
If so, aw'll gie ye the forst chance
Wi' pay'n a fortneet in advance! "
Says aw, "Huts, keep yor hoose, man!"

"Excuse us, wor not clean'd up yit!"
Says one fat wummin tiv us,
"Aw've got a splendid room te let
Up stairs, so cum up wiv us!".
She teuk us up the stairs se high,
'Twes a real "garret near the sky,"
"The rent's five shillins here a week,"
She said, an' snuff'd an' blew her beak;
Says aw, "It's not wor hoose, then!"

Anuther axt if we had bairns,
Says aw, "We've had iIliven,
But sad te say, thor's fower deed,
An' noo thor's only siven!"
Says she, "We'll not heh children here!"
Says aw, "Yor sum aud maid, aw fear,
Aw wundor whe on orth got ye?
Where did ye spend yor infancy?
Ye'll gie the bairns ne hoose, then!"

Sum places ye mun gan in seun,
An' not stop oot at neet, man,
In uthers ye dor hardly speak,
Ye cannet de owt reet, man;
For little rooms rents high 'ill be,
Withoot a back-yard fit te see;
We've trail'd aboot for mony a day,
But cannet get for luv or pay,
A decent sort ov hoose, man.

-Source: Joe Wilson, (author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 20 May 17 - 12:53 PM

MISSIN THE TRAIN

TEUN-"Miller of tke Dee."

"MIND waken us up at five o'clock,
For aw munnet miss the train,
Aw'm not used wi' gettin up se seun!"
Says Jack tiv his gudwife Jane.
"It starts at six, so let's off te bed,
For we hevint se lang te sleep;
So waken us, Jane, te catch the train,
Tho aw snore byeth lood an' deep,
An' aw'm ivor se soond asleep! "

They got inte bed an' seun fell asleep,
Where Jack quite injoyed his dreams,
Till a scratchfrae her big toe-nailmyed him jump"
It's half-past five! " she screams.
He struck a match te luck at the clock;
"It issent se late!-aw knew
It wassent owt like half-past five,
For it's only half-past two,
An' yor puttin us all iv a stew! "

Jack grummil'd as he got inte bed,
But seun fell asleep agyen;
At half-past three anuther greet kick
Showed Jane waddent let him alyen.
He cursed an' swore when he saw the time,
An' he held the leet te show,
But the only answer that he got,
Wes "John, ye've upset the po,
And you know that you shouldn't do so."

At fower dclock Jack wakened he'sel,
But his wife lay fast asleep; Says he,
"Then aw may as weel sit up;
Wi' me pipe, aw'll waken keep!"
At half-past ite she jumpt oot 0' bed,
When she had gud cawse te stare,
For there Jack sat, iv his Sunday's claes,
Fast asleep i' the aud airm-chair,
Catchin trains iv his dreams sleepin there.

-Source: Joe Wilson, (author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 20 May 17 - 01:10 PM

IF DEED FOAKS COM TE LIFE AGYEN !


TEUN-" The Coal Hole"

IF deed foaks com te life agyen,
Hoo funny it wad be, man;
They'd rub thor eyes wi' greet surprise
Te see what we can see, man.
Grainger wad hardly knaw the toon,
Wi' buildin up an' pullin doon:
A palace they myek ivry ruin,
They astonish live foaks, tee, man.

Korus.

Fal-the-dal-lal, the lal-the day,
Hoo funny it wad be, man,
If deed foaks com te life agyen,
Te see what we can see, man.

Geordey Stephenson, the ingineer,
Wad heh gud cawse for wundor,
Te see the railroads far an' near,
Abuv the grund an' under;
Earl Grey wad luck up te the sky,
Te see his moniment se high,
Thor gan te shift it by-an-by,
He wad say, "What next, aw wundor?"

Sum wad find falt wi' a' they saw,
An' try wi' spite te raise us,
An' tell us that wor a' se fast,
They'd seun meet us in blazes!
While uthers wad be glad te see
A workin man dim up the tree,
Like Burt, the pitmen myed M.P.,
An' disarvin wor greet praises.

Bob Chambers an' Jim Renforth tee.
Wad ask us war we beatin ?
Had Cockneys gain'd all victory
Throo just one man defeatin ?
Renforth wad say, "Is Tyneside men
Te let Joe Sadler rest alyen?
It's time aw wes alive agyen,
If ye cannet find a reet un !"

But sum wad better be away,
Such as a chep just barried,
He waddent like te cum an' see
His bloomin widow married;
He waddent like te see the kiss
Ov second-hand connubial bliss,
He waddent like a scene like this,
Ay, an' him just lately barried.

If deed foaks com te life agyen,
Thor'd be an awful mixtor,
Thor'd be ne room te had them a',
We'd a' be fairly fixt; for
We'd nearly a' relations be.
We cuddent tell owt whe wes whe,
Thor'd seun be blud an' murder tee,
An' we'd myek them cut thor sticks, sor,

-Source: Joe Wilson, (author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 20 May 17 - 01:25 PM

WOR NEYBOR NELL!

TEUN-" Pat Mulloy."

Iv a' the torments i' the world,
A neybor's warse then a',
That borrows things frae day te day,
An' dissent care a straw
Whether ye get them back or not,
If it just pleases them;
Thor not aflaid te ask for mair,
They nivvor knaw ne shem.
We've got a neybor 0' this kind,
She'll cum an' borrow cIaes,
Or pots, or pans, an' kettles, an'
She'll keep the syem for days.
If we invite a frind te dine,
We hardly get a smell,
Till in she cums te borrow this
Or that, dis Neybor Nell.

Me dowter hes a nice young man,
An' seun they'll married be,
So often he cums te the hoose
Te hey a cup 0' tea;
He's always se polite an' prim,
Relidgis iv his ways,
Porticklor what he sees or hears,
An' careful what he says;
But still worneybor dissent care,
Shud he be oot or in,
She'll cum an' beg three-happence, te
Get half-a-glass 0' gin;
Aw've seen him quite disgusted like,
His brou's byeth rose an' fell,
Te hear the neybor, " Len us this,
Or that!" frae Neybor Nell.

One day we'd all got sittin doon,
As use-yil te wor tea,
When in cums Neybor Nell quite bowld,
An' brasen'd as cud be ;
Says she, "Excuse me cumrmin in,
Sum cumpany aw've got,
Thor wimmin foaks;-aw'd be obliged
Ifye'd len us the pot !
She haddent time te say which pot
It wes she wanted, till
Up jumpt me dowter's sweetheart, an'
The tea things myed a spill;
Me dowter blush'd, her young man froon'd,
Aw felt greet shem me-sel,
An' wish'd aw had ne neybor like
That torment, Neybor Nell.

-Source: Joe Wilson, (author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 20 May 17 - 01:43 PM

THE UNSARTIN LASS !

TEUN-"He's gyen te be a Bobby."

Aw'M really quite unsartin
0' which luver aw shud choose,
For aw cannet nyem me choice yit,
An' aw dorsent one refuse;
But wi' sum evasive answer
Put them off frae day te day,
For aw cannet tell me fancy,
Thor's se mony in me way.

Korus

For thor's Tommy, an' thor's Billy,
Nearly drive a young lass silly,
They really cum se freely
Wi' thor offers iv'ry day;
An' thor's Charley, Joe, an' Harry,
Always wantin me te marry,
What myeks us tarry,
l' this daft unsartin way?

Thor's Tommy, tall an' sprightly,
An' as handsome as can be,
A myest weel-te-de pawnbroker,
An' he's pledged his luv te me;
Then thor's Billy,-that's the sailor,
He wants me te be his mate,
He wad plough the salt sea ocean,
Te be in the United State.

Then thor's Charley, he's a sowljor,
But aw cannet list te him,
Thowts 0' war an' his bright medals
l' me eyes grow varry dim;
An' thor's Joe, the portrait-tyeker,
Built in such a slender frame,
Aw'll give te him a negative,
Hopin that may quench his flame.

Then sumtimes aw fancy Harry,
Roo it is aw cannet tell :
He's a draper,-quite the dandy,
But aw divvent like a swell;
What wi' one, an' wi' the tuther,
Aw can nivvor find delight,
Till aw meet sum happy fellow,
Wi' the nyem 0' Mister Right !

-Source: Joe Wilson, (author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 20 May 17 - 03:22 PM

LOKIL RECKORDS FOR THIS SENTORY!

JENERWARY

IN Mosley Street, i' the eer ite-teen,
Gas lamps wes for the forst time seen.
Lally, the boat-rower, strang an'soond,
l' sivinty-fower, at Blyth, wes droon'd.

FEBREWARY

Cowen an' Hamond, at last at ease,
l' sivinty-fower, wes myed M.P.'s.
Burt, for Morpeth, teuk things quiet,
l' Durham thor wes nowt but riot.

MAIRCH.

l' fifty-fower, aud "Beeswing" deed,
She wassent a horse, but had mare speed.
l' sivinty-three, quite lost te hope,
Mary Ann Cotton wes join'd te rope.

YEPRIL.

I' forty-fower, wi' minds alike,
The Pitmen had thor famous Strike.
I'one bonny neet, i' fifty-nine,
Chambers beat White on the Coaly Tyne

MAY.

l' thorty-six a' the bairns wes fear'd,
When the Bobbies forst i' blue appear'd.
Kelly beat Chambers, i' sixty-sivin,
When Bob wes pullin fast te hivvin.

JOON.

I' sixty-ire, Bob Chambers deed,
Deeth beat him wiv untimely speed.
The High Level Bridge, i' forty-nine,
Wes myed complete across the Tyne.

JEWLY.

l' sixty-one, iv a deedly swoon,
Grainger bid gud-bye te the toon.
Harry Clasper, wi' mony a sob,
l' sivinty, folIow'd his aud frind Bob.

AWGUST.

On the Toon Moor, thousands went te see
Mark Sherwood hung, i' forty-three;
Ned Corvan wi' fun kept foaks alive,
But he dee'd he'sel, i' sixty-five.

SIPTEMBOR.

Dan O'Connell, ov greet renoon,
l' thorty-five, com te wor toon.
I' thorty-ite, te save life, se brave,
Grace Darling dared the tretch'rous wave.

OCTOBER.

The moniment that we se often view,
TeStephenson, finish'd i' sixty-two.
Mark Frater got his fatal mark
l' sixty-one, 'twes a point frae Clark.

NOVEMBER.

co Jemmy Allan's" pipes wes short
0' breeth l'ten, they had ne chance wi' deeth.
l' forty-one, an eventful mom,
Me bruther Tom an' me wes born.

DlSEMBOR.

The steamer" Lifeguard," i' sixty-three,
Wi' all on board wes lest at sea.
l' fifty-three, Billy Purvis, eloon,
I' rest his queer aud heed laid doon.


-Source: Joe Wilson, (author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 20 May 17 - 05:20 PM

BARNEY RILEY'S DREAM.
A TRUE STORY

ON March the tenth, in forty-six,
Bill Cleghorn had te fight
Wi' Michael Riley, on Blyth Links,
For fifty at catch-wight.

Mick's bruther, Barney, thrice had dreamt
That he wad konker'd be,
That Cleghorn's blows wad fatal prove,
Throo which poor Mick wad dee.

An' Barney sair wes put aboot,
For superstishus, he
Believed in dreams, an' fear'd the end
Ov this, his warnins three,

He tried te myek his bruther give
The forfeit up te Bill,
But Mick replied, "Wor gawn te fight,
We are not match'd te killl"

"Then Barney, cum, an' see me lick
The champein 0' Tyneside,
Aw'll win the fight withoot a mark,
See hoo aw'll tan his hide!"

" It's not the likes 0' Cleghorn that
Can tyek a Riley doon;
So nivvor mind yor feulish dreams, .
Aw'm best man i' the toonl"

The mornin com, an' hundrids there,
Te see the battle, cheer'd,
When two such men 0' fistic fame,
Stript te the buff, appear'd.

Bill Cleghorn stud byeth firm an' calm,
True confidence display'd;
An' Riley's smiles an' boondless chaff
Show'd he wes not aflaid.

For two lang oors 'twes give an' tyek,
Wi' strite an' heavy blows,
That fell upon the ribs an' fyece,
The cheeks, the eyes, an' nose.

Then Riley fund his easy job
Wes noo nowt like a joke,
Wi' jeers an' puttin oot his tung
He tried Bill te provoke.

But Cleghorn nivvor off his guard,
Watch'd Riley's tung cum throo,
Then struck him fiercely on the chin,
An' chopt it clean in two.

The fight wes ended.-Cleghorn wun.
Next mornin Mick wes deed,
An'there he lay a batter'd corpse,
Wi' Barney at his heed.

Poor Barney's dream com ower true, Said he,
"Aw'm not te blame,
Aw warn'd him, but aw'm glad te knaw
Me brother Mick died game!

An' this wes i' the gud aud days,
When men wad proodly sing,
An' lift thor voices high an' praise
The heroes ov the ring.

But tho the ring's for iver deun,
I' these new-fashun'd days,
Thor's murder always in the air,
In lots 0' different ways.

-Source: Joe Wilson, (author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 20 May 17 - 05:28 PM

IF SPENNITHORNE HAD WUN! OR, THE PLATE O' 74

TEUN-"'John Anderson, my Jo."

Aw meant te buy a chist 0' drawers,
Besides a silver watch;
A sofa grand, te mense the hoose,
Wi' bonny chairs te match;
Besides a new leet suit 0' claes,
Te swagger i' the sun,
Aw'd been new te the very beuts,
If Spennithorne had wun.

Aw meant te buy me wife a dress,
Ov silk the varry best,
She'd been like a fat lanlady,
The way aw'd had her drest;
We meant te lodge at Tinmuth till
The money wes a' deun ;
An' promenade the Sands each day,
If Spennithorne had wun.

But Spennithorne wes nearly last,
An' Lily Agnes wun,
The cheers 0' winners diddent soond
Te me like ony fun;
Aw cannet tell hoo aw got hyem,
The moor aboot us spun,
Aw started wark next day, an' sigh'd-sIf
Spennithorne had wun !

-Source: Joe Wilson, (author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 20 May 17 - 05:45 PM

THE SYIMEESE TWINS

TEUN-"The Pawnshop Bleezin."

WOR Geordey, just the tuther day,
Wes walkin up an' doon, man,
An' what amused him myest ova'
Wes bills stuck roond the toon, man,
Advisin foaks te gan an' see
These Twins they call the Syimeese;
He's read thor hist'ry iv a beuk,
An' swears that wundor nivvor struck
Rim half se much afore, man.

He says this freak 0' nator is
Thor join'd se fast tegither,
Wiv a lump 0' grissel hard an' tight,
Thor siporashun's nivor;
They call one Bob, the tuther Jim,
An' Jim's like Bob, an' Bob's like him,
An' if one wants te stop at hyem,
The tuther hes te de the syem,
He cannot de owt else, man.

He says when young, that Bob wes wild,
An' liked te hey his glasses,
An' led a kind 0' rakish life
Amang a' kinds 0' lasses;
But Jim, he waddint hed at a',
He said te Bob,
"Aw'lliet ye knaw
If ye want te lead this life, me lad,
Ye can gan yor-sel, aw'll not be had,
Aw'll brik the string that ties us."

But Geordey says he dursent did,
For fear he hurt he'sel, man,
Since then thor kind a settled doon,
For on thor life's a spell, man;
Shud they fall oot an'hev a fight,
Thor's neethor hes the best 0' wight,
An' if they russel, byeth gan doon,
An' when they hit the blaw reboons,
The striker feels the blaw, man.

He says thor married an' got bairns,
He wunders hoo it's deun, man,
But i' this world thor's things se queer,
Sum reckind nowt but fun, man !
An' if Bob wants te say his prayers,
An' Jimmy wants te gan doonstairs,
Bob hes te wait till Jim gets deun,
An' if Jim's gan te kiss his sun,
Bob hes te boo his heed, man.

But gox! hoo funny it wad be,
The time that they war kortin,
For if the lass fell oot wi' Jim,
Bob's feelings she'd be hurtin,
An' if he whisper'd iv her ear,
The tuther one was sure te hear;
An' when Bob tyeks an openin dose,
It fissicks Jimmy aw suppose,
An' that's a reglor maser!

If Jim shud fancy gawn asleep,
Bob hes te gan wi' him, man,
An' if Bob fancies gannin 'oot,
He hes te gan wi' Jim, man ;
Where Bob is Jimmy hes te be,
Sumtimes ye'd think it issent spree,
But what one dis his mate mun de,
Iv a' the seets the world can see,
This is the biggest cawshun!

-Source: Joe Wilson, (author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 21 May 17 - 01:11 PM

JACK HARDY'S KOORTSHIP AND MARRIDGE.
A RESITAYSHUN.

JACKHARDY was as fine a lad
As ivor ye cud see,
The reglor pictor ov his dad,
His muther once tell'd me,
As cute a lad, as sharp a lad,
As ye'll meet iv a day,
A lad that teuk care ov his brass,
An' threw nyen on't away.

At the age 0' fower-an'-twenty
He gat wark i' the toon,
As lodjins he wes forced te tyek,
He teuk a little room
Frev a canny quiet widow, an'
Her dowter, just he-teen,
An' wes settled like a lanlord,
Wi' greet cumfort,-a' soreen.

N00, the dowter kind a fancied
That here might be a chance
For a gud-man real gud-luckin;
She tried each winnin glance
That she thowt was fascinaytin,
But not one 0' them wad de,
For Jack had diff'rint noshuns
As te whe his wife shud be.

Throo the day, Jack always thinkin,
Throo the neet, iv ivry dream,
Thor wes only one idea,
An' strange as it may seem,
Jack he'sel had quite porswayded,
An' wi' quite a settled mind,
IV a' the wimmin he had seen
The widow wes myest kind.

He nivvor dreamt her dowtor luv'd
Or thowt ov him at a'j
'Twad been all the syem thing if he had,
For cutely, yemun knaw,
He'd reckund up the furnitor,
Se neat, se gud, se trim,
An' thowt a hoose se weel set up
Wes just the thing for him!

Tho cawshusly, he seun begun
Te koort the widow there,
An' smoked, an' joked, an' tawk'd away
Iv her late man's easy chair.
He fairly wun her hoose an' luv,
An' married seun war they;
Tho young enuff te be her son,
They'd many a happy day.

"Revenge is sweet!" sumbody says,
An' so the dowter thowt,
For tho Jack nivvor knew her luv,
She thowt he did, or owt ;
An' a' his dinners that she keuck't
She teuk gud care te spoil:
Wi' fire nearly always oot,
The pot wad nivvor boil.

Things went on this way days an' weeks
Till Jack's mate, Harry Hills,
Proposed te be his son-in-law,
One neet across thor gills.
The dowter got him-s-noo her lot's
Te wait upon a man
That always pledges her his luv
When he puts his claes i' pawn.

He likes his beer, dis Harry Hills,
His unkil knaws that tee,
For Harry's coat he often get's
Te help te raise a spree;
While lucky Jack sticks tiv his wife,
A happy couple,-they
Set a pattern te the young uns,
Workin hard frae day te day!"

-Source: Joe Wilson, (author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 21 May 17 - 01:33 PM

THE TRAVYLIN PORTRAIT TYEKER!
A POME.

Aw thowt aw cud paint a pictor,
Aw did, upon me word,
So aw bowt a penny box 0' paints,
Just what aw cud afford,
An' then aw wundor'd what aw'd try,
A man, a beast, or bird.

Aw mind aw luckt i' mony a shop,
Transparent slates aw saw,
An' wish'd that aw cud buy a one,
For then aw'd lairn te draw;
But money often myeks a man,
An' that ov korse ye'll knaw.

So aw had te myek me-sel content
Wi' nowt but what aw had;
Aw struggled hard an' did me best,
Like mony a poor lad,
An' wor foaks had the narve te say
It wassent te call bad.

Aw thowt aw wad tyek a portrait,
So aw got me bruther Ned
Te sit before us mony a neet
When we shud been i' bed,
Aw thowt them wes the happiest oors
Two young uns ivor led.

Aw myed his nose a' kinds 0' shapes,
His eyes aw myed them squint,
His cheek, throo maw artistic skill,
Had monya dimple in't,
An' wiv a bright rose-pink aw goh
Them such a bonny tint.

But not a sowl alive cud see
A bit 0' likeness there,
Tho sum te please us myed us think
'Twas really varry fair,
For they wad say 'twas just like Ned,
Se reed aboot the hair!

But still aw thowt aw'd deun se weel,
Aw'd heva try agyen,
For if a gud job's once begun,
Te let it once alyen,
Wad ruin the best 0' clivor skemes,
An' best 0' clivor men.

So on went aw,-an' on went Time,
Wi' nowt else i' me heed,
But tyekin foaks's likenesses,
Till aw stud hard i' need
0' what aw cuddent de without,
That's Life's supporter, Breed!

Iv a booth at fair or hoppin,
Wi' black paper aw wad myek
Sum figgor for the silly feuls,
Se daft such like te tyek,
But feuIs mun often help us, lads,
Or where's war daily kyeck?

At last a fottygraff masheen,
Like Ieetnin i' the skies,
Com dazzlin one day te me seet,
An' fill'd us wi' surprise;
Be luck aw got one oat on tick:
The man that ticks is wise!

But Fortun always wi' the brave
'Ill not a comrade be,
Aw cuddent tyek a pictor wid,
One ivor fit te see;
Aw laid me heed upon me hand,
An' wish'd that aw cud dee.

At last a thowt flew throo me brain,
An' myed us once mair stir,
Ideas hoo te lairn the trade
Had not struck me before,
Aw'd try an' get a job te stand
At sum fottygraffer's door!

Aw did; an' noo ye'll see me nyem's
Upon a decent van,
At races, ony place where sport
Brings money is me plan;
It's puff, an' cheek, an' impittence
Myeks mony a bissniss man.

Frae sixpence up te ite-teen-pence,
Aw'll tyek ye weel on glass,
An' cairds, six bob a duzzin,
That nebody can surpass,
Aw'lI myek gud-luckin ony fyece,
Man, wummin, lad, or lass!


-Source: Joe Wilson, (author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 21 May 17 - 01:53 PM

BILLY TURNBULL'S ADVENTORS AT THE GRAND REGRETTA THAT WES HELD (AUG. 1863)
THE SYEM WEEK THE BRITISH ASSOCIASHUNOV WISE FOAKS VISITED NEWCASSEL.

IT wes a splendid seet-when aw sat like a king at the heed 0' the King's Meadows amang a living mass
0' live foaks-me heart lowpt wiv excitement inside me new waistkit-but a' passin clood put us i' mind
0' the umberella that aw had borrow'd frae Bob Robson the time-gun boom'd throo the air, an' shoots
frae the stentorian lungs 0' the multitude drew me atfenshun te the noble forms 0' the champeins as
they war seen imbarkin, wi' the most magnanymus anniemosity rewards each uther, te dare the dangers
0' the tretcherous deep-it wes high tide, ye knaw-thor off!-thor cummin ! -thor wes a roar 0' voices an'
the river Sim-an' -Teasdale- Wilsonusly-aw ron up the Meadows wi' speed like JimPercy-aw's not
as lang as Ted Mills, but aw felt aw turned WHITE for all aw's a Bright-un-Chambors! aw shoots-aw
luckt at the men, heedless where aw wes runnin te, when all iv a suddint aw fell ower the Meadows-
it wes a momentus moment for me-aw struggled te get ashore-fearful retlecshuns struck us when aw
rickollected that aw nivvor had got ony lessons frae Professor Walker-for aw cuddent swim withoot
it wes doonwards-foaks say droonin men catch at straws, but thor wes ne straws, so aw clutched the
grass i' me desperayshun-me hand slipt-pairt 0' the grass wes clay-aw fell doon agyen, leets danced
afore me eyes, fearful noises rung i' me ears-nebody can imadgin the aw-ful sensayshun aw felt when
maw editorial heed wes under wetter-aw cud neither float or swim-so aw lay doon at the
'bottom till it wes law tide so as aw cud 'wawk oot!-aw dinnet knaw hoo aw got hyem-aw cuddent
reckollect owt mair-for aw've been insensible ivor since.-Yor Unlucky Frind,

-BILLY TURN-BULL.

-Source: Joe Wilson, (author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 21 May 17 - 02:49 PM

AN ACROSTIC- TAYLOR

Written On the victorious career ov Jimmy Taylor, the seiabrated boat-puller, efter
the monny aifeats if his game but Unlucky bruthers.

T IME'S browr a greet change that aw's happy te see,
A w's prood that the change is se gladsome te ye,
Y e've proov'd ye can stay, tho yor bruthers tried hard,
L ossin each race tho they wun greet regard;
O v a' yor game bruthers thor's nyen like yor-sel,
R ow on, canny lad, may ye ivor excel!

-Source: Joe Wilson, (author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 21 May 17 - 04:16 PM

THE COCKNEY'S LAMENT

FAREWEEL the days when Lundun lads as Champions nobly shone,
Defiant te the wide wide world, the bonny Thames thor throne,
For noo Tyne lads beet us complete, wor chance wi them's but sma'!
Oh! sad's me heart, whe'd ivor thowt te see us browt se law.

Korus

Oh I dear oh! thor'snyen like Chambers, oh!
De a' we can we hevent a man
Te lick Bob Chambers, oh !

Fareweel the days when Lundun boats wes the finest that wes made,
But Harry Clasper, frae Tyneside, seun put wor's i' the shade;
He myeks his boats se leet an' neet, brings oot sic forstclass men,
He licks war builders, rowers te,-wor Lundun glory's gyen.

Fareweel the days when Robert Coombes rowed fleetly ower the tide,
The swiftest champion ivor knawn, the Cocknies' boast an' pride,
For gox, he'd had but little squeek, if he'd leeved this day te see,
For if Coombes cud myek his fine skiff run, Bob Chambers myeks his flee.

Fareweel the days when Lundun crews pull'd the winnin boat se fast
When i' skiffs, an' pairs, an' fower-oars we cuddint be sorpass'd,
But noo we might as weel not pull at the grand regretta here,
For Tyneside lads cum here an' win the prizes ivry eer.

Fareweel the days when Lundun lads victorious cud compete,
When strangers nivvor thowt te trywarchampions te defeat,
But noo Bob Cooper's put it on-ye'll knaw wi' we aw mean;
An' te pull the greet Bob Chambers the Australian mun be GREEN.

Fareweel the days, them happy days, When the world we cud defy,
We've struggl'd hard te keep war nyem, but noo think shem te try,
For Everson, Kelley, White, and Green, te Chambers did givein,
Bell's Life may puff an' praise them up, but it cannet myek them win.

Fareweel, fareweel them gud aud days, we'll see thor like ne mair,
For then ne men like Chambers pull'd, nyen cud wi' him compare;
Still Lundun men are gud as then,-resentful thowts decline,
For weel we knaw, say what we will, the BEST MEN'S on the Tyne.

-Source: Joe Wilson, (author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 21 May 17 - 04:36 PM

WOR GEORDEY'S HISTORY 0' THE MATCHES

Tke Match Struck.-Efter Cooper lickt Everson at Lundun, his backers wanted te match him agyen ony steamboat on the
river, bar the Dredger, but they cuddent get on; so they tried a steam ingin, that wes Bob Chambers. The challinge wes
accepted. A meetin wes held i' the Sun, an' the room wes chock full. Harry Clasper's health wes drunk, but it behaved
itse! varry weel. Thor wes a vast 0' chaff aboot pownies and munkies-ye mun understand that a powny's nowt like a cuddy-
apowny's 25.Pund, an' a munky's 500 soverins.-(Me grandmuther says she wad rethur hev a munky i' the hoose then a
powny ony day.)-Cooper wanted te be stakehadder he'sel, but Chambers thowt he had mair reet te haud the Queen's
Heeds wi' hevin the Kings Heed at St. Anthony's, but that wes a' Walker.

Airtickils ov Agreement.-Bob Chambers, te try speed an' style, agrees te pull Cooper a mile-a full hour before it's high
tide-for one hundred sovrins aside-on Tuesday, sum day i' July, the date aw've forgot, but it's nigh-the Chronicle gaffer
te haud the deposits that's myed biv each lad-gate money te be divided, refforee not te be one-sided-the stakes te
gan wiv his disishun. So lads, get yor-sels j' condishun-an' mark ye, thor's not te be foolin, for that's agyen a' wor boat
rulln--the race te be rowed onTyne wetter, an' the seuner it's ower the better-Bob Chambers then put doon his nyem,
an' Cooper as weel did the syem-then aw bid them gud neet te gan hyem-an' for fear that aw'd mebbies get rang,
aw went hyem wi' me mate, Geordy Strange

Wor Peg's Ideas aboot it.

WOR PEG says it wad be a vast better if boat-rowers wes te pull wi' thor heeds turn'd the tuther way, so as they cud
see where thor gannin te.

Conversayshun at Blakey's Corner-the Neet afore the Race

JORN SPENCER-" Gentlemen, aw'Jl bet ony gentleman a bob that Bob beats Bob! "

ADAMSCOTT-"Deun! aw'Jl bet ye a pint!"

JOHN SPENCER-" Deun! but we may as weel hed noo! heh ye tuppence?

ADAMSCOTT-"No, aw've just threehappence, but aw'll cadge a meg ov Toby Walker, so let's away te Mackey's! "

-Source: Joe Wilson, (author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 21 May 17 - 07:52 PM

THE GREET BOAT RACE

For the Championshionship 0' the Tyne an' £400, Sept. 5 and 6, 1864.

TRUN- "The Hairr," or" Hop Light Loo."

THE aud bridge groan'd as tho it thowt
Its end wes noo drawn near;
The level creakt and squeakt beneath
The weight it had te beer;
The steamers rowld frae side te side,
An' ivry boat wes full,
When Chambers, ov aquatic fame,
An' Cooper had te pull.

Korus

Pull, lads, pull! like leetnin wi' the tide!
Pull, lads, pull! the victry te decide!
Pull, lads, pull !-Iet pluck an' skill combine
Te show the world thor's nyen can touch
The Champion 0' the Tyne!

Ne fear 0' cheat or false defeat
Wes iv a breest that day,
For spite wad myek them pull for fairs
An' anxshus for the fray;
The river, like a heavy sea,
Myed ivry beetin heart
Quake when they saw sic fearless men
Pull. near the bridge te start.

Thor off! gud grashus what a shoot
Wes sent frae shore te shore,
The time-gun i' the Cassel Garth
Cud nivor cawse sic stir,
For like two swift locomotives
Byeth try te gain the lead,
Wi' quickind spurt, 'mid roarin cheers
Bob Chambers gans a-heed.

The champion wi' masheen-like stroke
Dash'd bravely throo the spray,
While Cooper, game as man cud be,
Tried hard te win the day,
When Chambers, throo the warst 0' luck,
Ran foul agyen two keels,
But full 0' steam-he's affagyen,
An' close at Cooper's heels.

Thor level noo,-but throo the storm
Grim danger claim'd the race,
For efter byeth the men had fould
A fearful scene teuk place,
Bob Chambers' boat wes sinkin fast,
The race that day wes deun,
Then foaks begun wi' clattrin tung
To argie byeth had wun.

The next day wi' the tide still ruff,
They had thor second spin,
Frae start te finish Chambers led,
The better man te win,
An' proov'd thor's not a man alive,
That can wi' him contend;
But speak weel 0' the lossin man,
May gud luck byeth attend.

The race that had for weeks an' munths
Excited mony a breest
Wes past-an' ivrybody's mind
Seem'd frev a load releest;
Ne men like these had ivor pull'd,
Let Tyneside glory shine,
An' lang may champions
0' the world Spring frae the coally Tyne.

Wor Geordey says he's glad he wes on the bridge at the race, for thor wes
a deed heet at the start, an' he dissent think they war ivor see close eftor't.
What a cawshun Geordey is, aw say.

-Source: Joe Wilson, (author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890

Subject: RTEMPERANCE SONGS, REAE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 21 May 17 - 08:37 PM

TEMPERANCE SONGS,
READINGS,
AND RECITATIONS.

TEMPERANCE
KILL'D THROO A FALL DOONSTAIRS.
READING OR RECITATION.

"WHAT a nice young chep Jack Harley is ! " the neybors a' wad say,
As, clean an' neat, he left the hoose te gan te wark each day;
An' a cheerful smile lit up his fyece whenivor he luckt back,
An' nodded tiv his canny wife an' little bairn, young Jack.
An' the little fellow nodded tee, an' shooted-" Da, ta! ta!"
It myed Jack turn an' smile agyen at this sweet scene he saw.
An' he often thowt an' said he was the happiest 0' men,
An' happier felt, when wark wes deun, te be at hyem agyen.
Ivrything went on first-rate, an' Jack had little care,
Except attendin te the wants not often wanted there;
For Bessy wes a careful wife, an' easy myed ends meet:
In fact, ye cuddentfind a happier couple i' the street.
But Time browt changes te the hoose that there shud nivvor been,
An' cast a clood that nivvor yit wes lifted frae the scene:
For Jack got mates-an idle lot-that wassent fit for him,
An' filled his once bright, happy cup wi' mis'ry te the brim.
Then Jack's free disposition always myed him easy prey
Te fellows wi' the gift 0' tung, that often hes the way
Te myek ye think they like ye weel-that they're yor truest frinds ;
Weel up iv a' kinds 0' deceit, te sarve thor selfish ends,
So Jack wes seun perswayded te join them iv a spree.
Next mornin' when he wakened up, as bad as he cud be,
They teuk him te the public-hoose where they had been before,
An' when they fund thor money gyen they started" tick" te score.
Thor wark neglected, there they sat, an' kept it up for days,
Wi' the drink they raised wi' spungin an' a' such dirty ways,
Till Jack wes just as bad as them, an' fairly lost te shem,
Except when, wiva moment's pain, his mind wad wander hyern.
An' when he tried te gan away,his tempters kept him back
Frae the canny wife se true te him an' canny little Jack.
So days went on like this till Jack nowt but a drunkard turn'd:
He hated wark as he luved drink-his throat for iver burn'd
For drink-s-ay, drink, that fearful curse, had fallen upon him,
An' filled his once bright, happy cup wi' mis'ry te the brim.
One neet, his wife went on her knees, an' prayed that he wad stop,
Ay, if he'd only stop at hyem, she'd fetch him in a drop.
"If he wad only stop at hyem," she uttered wiv a sigh, "
She'd try te myek him happy, as she'd deun i' days gyen by; .
She'd cool his broo wi' wetted cloths, an' rest wad bring him roond;
A few days wad myek him better !"-an' her voice had that sweet soond,
That Jack once halted at the door, an' said-" Lass, nivvor fear !
Aw'llmyek this spree me varry last; an' when aw'm off the beer,
Aw'll gan te wark : aw'll get a job at owt if war trade's slack.
Yor seedy noo-ye want sum claes, an' so dis little Jack! "
He kissed her as he left the hoose; she smiled an' said, "Cum seun"!
She knew hoo happy they cud be if once his spree was deun.
That neet she waited lang, as she had often deun before,
An' listened te the footsteps that kept passin' bythe door;
An' little Jack laffed iv his dreams, as if he had ne care;
An' Bessy turned quite sleepy-when a footstep on the stair
Myed her start up te showa leet. She heard him stagger noo
A heavy fall doonstairs-an' then, a groan that went clean throo
The heart 0' that poor list'ner ;-then a hurried rush 0' feet
Frae the neybors, as they flew te see the dreadful wark that neet.
Poor Bessy screamed, when Jack she saw, wi' blud upon his cheek.
"Maw canny man, where are ye hurt?" but Jack, he cuddent speak.
He fixed his eyes upon his wife in anguish and remorse,
For drink had browt ne life te him, but untimely deeth -its curse!

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 21 May 17 - 11:57 PM

WHICH DE YE CALL MEAN ?
A TEETOTALER'S DEFENCE.
RECITATION

YOR prejudiced agyen the men
That winnet drink wi' ye ;
Ye call teetotal members mean
Ye've said the syem te me!
Can ye expect that they shud stand
A glass 0' beer for ye,
The varry thing that they detest?
No, no, that waddent de !

An' if they dinnet drink thor-sels,
They heh ne call te pay
For drink for ye, or ony one,
That's meant te gan that way.
Ye heh ne reet te call them mean,
An' noo aw'll tell ye hoo,
For 'twixt ye an' teetotal men,
Yor meanest 0' the two I

Is't. mean that they shud study hyem,
Its cumforts an' its peace ;
An' try te myek thor happiness
Frae day te day increase?
The time that drunkords fuddle on,
Wi' nowt fit te be seen;
Where is thor cumfort i' the hoose ?
Noo which de ye call mean?

The drunkord hes ne care for hyem,
He's selfish te the last;
As lang as he gets plenty beer,
His wife an' bairns may fast;
He's bloated out wi' drink se full,
At hyem thor starved an' lean;
He nivvor cares for hyem at a',
Noo which de ye call mean?

A sober man's his bairns' best frind;
Wiv all a fethur's pride,
He thinks ne palace like his awn,
His cosey fireside;
His wife an' fam'ly tyek a pride,
In keepin a' things clean;
Thor's plenty there-ne signs 0' want,
Noo which de ye call mean?

Is't him that's stiddy, kind an' true
Tiv a' that's i' the hoose ?
Or him that spunges, ticks, and sprees,
For nowt ov ony use?
Aw've shown ye what aw knaw's quite true,
Ye hey yor choice between,
Then speak the truth, ye've heerd us throo,
Noo which de ye call mean?

-Source: Joe Wilson, (author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 22 May 17 - 12:13 AM

TOM BROON. READING OR RECITATION

"WHAT'S the next case?" said the magistrate; but he seemed te knaw, aw think,
It wad be like a' the uthers, throo the drink--the weary drink:
An' the disapated pris'nor luckt aroond an' hung hisheed,
An' he tried te shun the glances frae the curious eyes he see'd.
For 'twas Tom Breon's first appearance In this low, degradin scene,
An' he hoped an' wished 'twad be the last, him an' the grave between:
For not once iv a' his life-time had it ivor been his fate,
Before this morn, te stand afore the grim-like magistrate.
An' his blood-shot eyes they glistened when he thowt aboot his hyem,
An' he wundor'd hoo his wife an' bairns wad ivor bear the shem
That he'd browt se heavy on them, an' his heart beat quick an' fast,
As he murmured tiv he'sel, nigh chokin, "This shall be the last,
Ay, the last time that they'll witness such a scene 0' maw disgrace;
Ay, the last time that aw'Il hing me heed i' such a hated place!"
The magistrate spoke kindly, for he saw repentance there,
Then dismissed him wiv a cawshun, but he tell'd him te beware!
An' he gov him that bit gud advice te let the drink alyen,
An' he teIl'd him that he nivvor wished te see him there agyen.
Tom thenkt him in a manner that he cuddent then resist,
An' swore ne mair they'd see his nyem upon the drunkard's list;
An' his heart lowpt wiv a joy that they cuddent help but see,
For he felt, but in two different ways, that he once mair wes free
For in that awful moment, when he first appeared in court,
Te be the haze-gaze 0' the crood, his pride wes sairly hurt;
He had only then considered what had really browt him there,
What had been the cawse ova' his shem-the cawse ov his dispair.
In that first sober moment that he'd felt for mony days,
He knew thor wes but one te blame for his bad, feulish ways.
An' whe wes that one but he'sel he fund he cuddent say,
An' he swore te be teetotal frae that day-that varry day.
An' the heart wes noo uplifted that before had been cast doon,
An' he blist his resolution as he hurried throo the toon.
The drink his shopmates offered noo he firmly cast aside,
An' tiv a' thor greet temptayshuns he most steadily replied,
"Not a drop, not one! Aw tell ye, not a single drop aw'll tyek,
For if aw've been asleep till noo, aw find aw'm wideawake
Te the evil that it's cawsed us,-an' if mine be nowt te sum,
Whey, aw'll try me best te hinder such anuther day te cum
Te me-sel an' te the mony;-an' ye knaw as weel as me
That aw'm honest and strite-forward as a workin man can be.
Then what myed us se disgracefully bring a' me frinds te grief?
What myed us be trailed throo the streets like sum vile, dorty thief?
What myed us pass last neet amang an idle, low-lifed gang,
When aw shud been at hyem i' peace, an' free frev ony rang?
What browt us te the pris'nor's box like sum poor, guilty thing,
An' on me fam'ly an' me-sel such misery te bring,
An' fill thor breests wi' shem an' pain,-hoo can aw meet thor eyes?
Hoo can me maister trust us noo ?-
Aw ask ye is this wise?
What else but drink-the country's curse-browt this mischief te me?
So frae man's greatest enemy this moment aw'll be free!
An' if ye'Il tyek a mate's advice, ye'll try an' de the syem,
For drunkenness 'Il nivvor tend te myek a happy hyem.
The lesson that aw've lairnt the day shall iver be me plan,
Te shun disgrace an' try te be respected as a man! "


-Source: Joe Wilson, (author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 22 May 17 - 03:43 PM

THE NEET SCHEUL

TEUN- "The Lancashire Lass."

WOR Jack's a young lad that's byeth clivor an' smart,
His heed's full 0' knollidge an' a' kinds 0' lairnin;
He's got a' the scheul beuks clean off be heart,
An' nowt else wad please him but startin a scheul.
He thowt he cud de the thing complete,
Efter wark, i' the hoose, myest ivry neet,
Wi' lads an' lasses belangin the street,
He wad seun hey a canny bit scheul,

Korus

"If they'd say eftor me thor ABC,"
He thowt it wad de se canny an' clivor ;
But ABC DEan' F G
Wes owt but a spree for poor Jack at the scheu!.

The scholars he got wes a thick-heeded lot,
They had bother'd the heed ov mony a maister,
Till hopeless they'd let them a' gan te pot,
So Jack got them a' when he opened the scheul;
Besides they war nearly twice Jack's age,
If they broke a slate or tore a page,
They wad laffte see him get iv a rage,
An they'd myek quite a scene i' scheu!.

Says one, "What's the gud ov us lairnin at a'?
When aw can get me muther te read the papers;"
Says anuther, "Aw'lllairn when aw'm auder, aw knaw,
That 'ill save us the trouble ov gannin te scheul!"
Then anuther wad seun brick up the class,
Wi' startin te tease anuther lad's lass,
An' if Jack spoke they'd smack his jaws,
So they seun put an end te the scheul,

Says Jack, "But ye'll a' rue this i' the end,
Thor's nowt ye'll regret like yor lairnin neglected,
Ye pay ne attenshun becawse aw's yor frind,
When aw's willin te teach ye ye'll not hey a scheul
Ye'll think 0' the chance ye've thrawn away,
An' mony a time ye'll rue the day
That ye broke up me little bit scheul.

-Source: Joe Wilson, (author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 22 May 17 - 04:09 PM

THE PAINTED NOSE!

TEUN-" Irish Mally, O!"

JIM TODD wes once a gud-like chep,
Wi' nose byeth clean an' strite;
His cheeks had a nice rosy tint
Abuv the skin se white.
Until he joined a drunken lot,
His features had repose;
But brandy myed an ugly change,
It pimpled a' his nose.

Korus.

It spoiled his fyece se canny,
An' his failins did expose;
It's not a plissint seet te see
A drunkard's painted nose!

At forst he thowt them beauty spots,
That seun wad gan away;
He cuddent think he'd hey a nose
Like that frae day te day.
He sighed as he luckt i' the glass,
Wi' feelins quite morose,
Te see his cheeks se varry pale,
An' such a fierynose!

He got advice frae docter cheps,
But a' that they cud say,
Wes if he'd let the drink alyen,
'Twad mebbies gan away.
It teuk him eers te cullur'd se,
An' munny, aw suppose:
The brandy that he drunk wad myek't
A real expensive nose!

An' so he carries on his fyece
The drunkard's glarin sign!
Ye cannet called an ornament,
Tho brightly it dis shine.
But if he'll tyek a frind's advice,
An' de what aw propose,
He'll drink ne mair, but tyek the pledge,
An' get a different nose!

-Source: Joe Wilson, (author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 22 May 17 - 04:17 PM

DEETH l' THE STREET

RECITATION. 'TWES a fearful seet,
l' the winter's neet,
A wummin lyin drunk i' the street.

Sum thowt she wes bad,
Or deed wi' the cawd,
She luckt se starved an' se poorly clad.

They wad tyek her up,
An' give her a sup:
Her breeth smelt strang 0' the cursed cup.

They myest.let her fall,
But a frindly wall
Stopt her, as she opened her shawl.

What wes that that fell?
Aw can hardly tell.
Was she a wummin or fiend from hell?

Se drunk i' the street,
On a winter's neet,
Wiv her bairn lyin a corpse at her feet!

'Twes frozen te deeth,
An' they held thor breeth,
As they held the corpse, wi' chatterin teeth.

Poor thing! it wes cawd;
A bonny bit lad;
Eneuff te myek the most heartless sad.

They teuk them away;
An' a frosty day
Opened as they i' the station lay.

Aw'm silent an' brief
On a muther's grief;
But i' deeth, that day, she'd felt relief:

For a lifeless child,
An' a parent wild,
Wes seen, as the sun shone soft an' mild.

'Here the nation's curse
On a bairnless nurse
Wes seen iv its evils, strong in force.

An' so it 'ill be,
Till the country's free
Frae the drink that works such misery.

-Source: Joe Wilson, (author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 22 May 17 - 05:07 PM

WHAT A FEUL AW'VE BEEN!

TEUN-"John Anderson my Jo."

Aw mind the time, when full 0' strength,
Aw gaily went te wark,
An' care sat leetIy On me broo
Frae mornin until dark.
A happy fam'ly be me side
Enlivened a' the scene;
But noo the change, the weary change,
Shows what a feul aw've been.

Contented wi' me daily lot,
Industry charmed me heart,
An' high it beat wi' honest hope,
Sum day aw'd myek a start
I' bissniss, maister for me-sel,
An' this aw might heh been;
But oh, the drink, the weary drink,
Shows what a feul aw've been.

Aw had a hoose, a canny hoose,
An' luvin wife beside;
An' bairns that clung around me knee,
Thor dad and mammy's pride.
Poor things! they dropped off one be one,
For poverty se keen
Com roond us wiv a deedly blast
Man, what a feul aw've been!

The hoose that shud hey been a hyem
Te wife an' bairns for life,
Wes myed a scene ov nowt but want
An' nivvor-ending strife.
Wi' happiness completely lost,
Ne hoose, ne wife, nor wean,
The miserable life aw lead
Shows what a feul aw've been.

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 22 May 17 - 05:18 PM

DRINK NE MAIR!

TEUN- "Trust te Luck."

DRINK ne mair! drink ne mair!
Tyek advice that's weel meant:
Thor's not one that abstains
Ivor knawn te repent.
They've seen throo thor folly,
They've got common sense,
Te keep them frae misery,
Low life, an' expense.
Thor brains once se muddled,
They find bright an' clear,
An' things oncese cloody
Sunshiney appear.
Drink ne mair! drink ne mair!
Drink ne mair for yor life!
Drink ne mair for yor-sel,
For yor bairns an' yor wife.
Then attend-aw's yor frind,
Tyek advice that's wee! meant:
Thor's not one that abstains
Ivor knawn te repent.

Drink ne mair !-throo the air,
Thor's a voice that repeats
These words te the drunkard,
In hoose, bed, or streets.
An' they whisper a warnin
That nyen shud neglect,
If thor anxious te win
Byeth gud frinds an' respect.
Wi firm resolution,
Hoo seun they'll obtain
Such a hearty gud change;
Ne mair they'll complain,
Or wish they war lifeless,
An' eager for deeth,
But welcum the mornin
Wi' hilth i' thor breeth.
Then attend-aw's yor frind,
Tyek advice that's weel meant:
Thor's not one that abstains
Ivor knawn te repent.

Drink ne mair i-true an' fair
Is the warnin we give:
It 'ill lengthen yor days;
It's a plissure te live,
Wi' ne thowts te darken
The bright, open day,
But honest reflections
Te keep care away;
Contented an' cheerful,
Wi plenty i' store,
Nivvor dreedin the thowts
0' the neet gyen before.
Keep away frae despair,
If ye'll only but think
Ov the happiness lost
Throo gein way te the drink.
Then attend-aw's yor frind,
Thor all frinds that declare,
For the sake 0' yor-sel,
Drink ne mair! drink ne mair !

The above can also be used as a Recitation.

-Source: Joe Wilson, (author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 22 May 17 - 05:53 PM

FLOG'D IN JAIL!

RECITATION

WHE wad pity a drunken brute
That struck a helpless man?
That robbed an' nearly killed, for drink,
A poor an' crippled man?
An' whe wes this unfeelin wretch?
That rascal, Fightin Dan!

Thor's sum, if they can use thor fists,
Such greet advantage take;
They'll double't in yor varry fyece,
Te put ye in a shake,
Te myek ye give what ye refuse
If ye are wideawake.

An' so did Dan treat this poor man,
Aw've mentioned once before:
He tried te myek him pay for drink,
An' then he cursed an' swore,
Then followed him up sum byway
The villainI-like a cur !

'Twes nearly murder: but he lived
Te limp doon te the court,
An' there describe the foul attack,
An' tell where he wes hurt;
The sentence that Dan got that day
Wes onything but sport.

For days he waited i' the jail,
Till one day, tiv his ward,
The turnkey com te tell him he
Wes wanted in the yard.
He seun wes stript an' fastened up
"Gan at it I-hit him hard!"

An' so they did: they hit him hard,
An' Dan turned varry pale ;
Tho seldum frightened ov a man,
The "cat" seun myed him quail.
He yeIled,-it hurt his feelins se,
This bein fiog'd i' jail.

He cried for marcy!- mark the words !
For marcy, at each stroke!
But had he any marcy for
The man he tried te choke?
No! not a bit; not even if
His victim's neck had broke!

Ne pity for the hardened wretch;
Ne sympathy or fear:
Thor'sower mony like him, an'
We divvent want them here:
Thor's sum wad commit ony crime,
Ay, murder, for thor beer!

-Source: Joe Wilson, (author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 22 May 17 - 07:34 PM

LAST NEET AW FELL OOT WI' ME MATE!

TEUN- "The Gallowgate Lad."

AW'M bad, but aw's always complainin,
Me heed's just as thick as can be,
Se often aw get on the fuddle,
Reflection's ne plissure for me;
Me-sel aw cud start noo an' hammer,
Aw think se much shem te relate;
Throo the drink aw's byeth sad an' unhappy,
Last neet aw fell oot wi' me mate.

A canny young fellow is Geordey,
He's been a real gud un te me;
It's fewthat's enjoy'd better frindship,
Se kind an' true-hearted is he ;
Aw nivvor fell oot wi' me comrade,
Till last neet, aw'm sorry te state:
Aw teuk offme coat for te fight him,
Te fight wi' maw canny aud mate.

Wi' spirits an' beer nearly crazy,
Disputin each word that he said:
Me tung full ov owt but gud langwidge,
A mis'rable time on't aw myed;
Aw struck him, an' show'd me bad temper,
Man! me-sel aw cud willingly hate ;
Aw cud cry, aw's that full 0' vexation,
Te think aw fell oot wi' me mate.

Poor fellow, he tried te persuade us
Te pitch up the drink for me gud,
An' he said, if aw'd try, wiv a struggle
Aw'd did, an' quite easy aw cud;
But stubborn, aw started te call him
A preacher, se paltry, te prate;
Aw treated wi' scorn his true kindness,
An' scoff'd at maw canny aud mate.

Aw saw the poor lad wes quite nettled,
An' sorry te see me that way;
He tried te put me in gud humour,
Not one angry word wad he say;
But heed-strang an' fiercely ungrateful,
Wi' passion that waddent abate;
Aw call'd him a "nowt" for his trouble,
An' fairly fell out wi' me mate.

When sober hoo happy tegither
We've been, an' we always cud be,
Aw'll tyek his advice, turn teetotal,
The varry best thing aw can de:
For drink myeks a man se unhappy,
Throo trouble it's sure te create;
It separates frinds an' relations,
An' myeks a chep loss a gud mate.

The above can also be used as a Recitation.

-Source: Joe Wilson, (author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 22 May 17 - 08:55 PM

CLIVOR MEN!

TEUN-" Barbary Bell."

YE may talk aboot clivor men bein greet drinkers,
An' reckon yor-sel as a one 0' that sort,
An' run doon teetotal te cheps that's not thinkers,
But, hinny, what say ye to Cowen an' Burt?
Are they i' yor list amang a' yor greet talent,
If not, myek a fresh un if only for sport,
An' heed it wi' one 0' the best 0' Gud Templars,
The M.P. for Morpeth, the nyem Thomas Burt.

It's a credit to send for thor member a pitman,
They knew he desarved it, an' voted like men;
What he's deun issent halfwhat he's gan te de yit,man,
In Parliament seun he'll myek famous his nyem.
He talks like a man wiv his senses aboot him,
Thor's nowt stimulates him se much as the worth
Ov his awn canny frinds, an' they nivvor need doot him,
The workin-man's frind, an' the pride 0' the North.

Thor's uthers like him aw cud mention wi' plissure,
But, bliss ye, 'twad fill a big beuk such a size;
Thor nyems i' the North we respect an' we trissure,
Joe Cowen's anuther te open yor eyes:
He knaws mair aboot a' political hist'ry,
Then lots 0' greet statesmen that's got a grand nyem,
An' hoohe thinks on't a' te me's quite a myst'ry;
He'll myek his mark yit, lad, afore he cums hyem.

So dinnet brag se when ye talk aboot drinkers,
Or dinnet ye run the teetotalers doon;
Thor's men that's abstainers can prove as greet clinkers,
An' myek thor-sels knawn te the world i' renoon.
Sobriety myeks a man's heed always clearer,
He's welcum, respected, knaws hoo te behave;
Te byeth frinds an' family he'll ivor be dearer
It dissent need whiskey te myek a man brave.


-Source: Joe Wilson, (author) Songs and Drolleries, 1890