Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson

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 - 10:04 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: 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: 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 - 09:00 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: 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: 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 - 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 - 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 - 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 - 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 - 01:24 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 - 01:08 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 - 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 - 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 - 12:23 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 - 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 - 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 - 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: 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: 16 May 17 - 10:00 PM

MALLY DIDDENT CUM

TEUN- " Farewell, my Jumbaree. "

Aw had te meet young Mally once,
Aw'll not forget that neet;
She promised tiv us faithfully
Te be i' Grainger Street.
"She wad meet us near the Monniment,"
Te me she whisp'rin' said;
But, oh ! that disappointment
Such misery convey'd.

Korus.

But, oh dear! Mally diddent cum!
She kept us waitin' there se lang,
Heart-broken-c-aw wes glum;
For it's an awful disappointment
When yor sweetheart dissent cum!

Aw went roond be the Market,
But Mally wassent there;
Throo Newgate Street an' Blackett Street,
Aw wander'd full 0' care;
Then went back te the Monniment,
But still aw cuddent see
The sweetheart that had promised
To meet us faithfully.

Northumberland Street, an' Percy Street,
Aw stagger'd wildly throo,
The breezes frae the Moor Edge
Cud nivvor cool me broo,
Forfever-heat-iv ivry street
Ne Mally aw cud see:
Aw went back to the Monniment
Increasin' misery.

l' Grey Street, an' i' Grainger Street,
For three lang oors or mair,
Me eyes obscured wi' grief an' gloom,
Greet sorrow for me share,
At last, aw myed me way back hyem,
But there aw cuddent sleep,
For oh ! aw nivvor thowt that Mall
Her promise waddent keep.

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

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 16 May 17 - 09:51 PM

SULKY MARY

MARY sulks an' Mary grummils,
Mary turns her heed away,
Mary cannet beer us funnin,
So aw think aw'll stop away,
It's Hannah's Sunday oot, an'
Hannah Likes a joke as weel as me,
Aw'd seuner gan a mile wi' Hannah,
Then hey a walk wi' Mary three!

Fareweel Mary, prood an' distint,
Aw'll not plague ye,-if aw gan,
If yor time shud cum te marry,
Aw hope aw maynit be yor man;
For if aw had a wife bad-temper'd,
She'd spoil mine, an' myek mine bad,
So gud-bye, hinny,-for aw's gannin,
Ye'll mebbies get anuther lad!

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

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 16 May 17 - 03:08 PM

THE AUDD KINNOO

"A few days ago, Messrs. James Hall and Robert Cooper discovered
at low water a large canoe deeply embedded in the sand of the river Tyne.
After considerable trouble this relic of the past was raised and taken on shore,
when it was discovered that the canoe was one solid piece of oak, which had
evidently been burnt out in the centre, and then finished off with pieces of
flint. It was placed by Mr. Hall in the Elswick Boathouse, where it now remains.
Several antiquarians have inspected the unshapely boat recently brought to
light, and although great difference of opinion exists as to the date in which it
had been in use, the majority are inclined to believe that its age must be
something over one thousand years.-"Newcastle Chronicle, April 9th,1870."

TEUN-

"The Pawnshop Bleezin."

THE morn wes fair, the tide wes law,
The sun shone bright as iver,
When Jimmy Hall, te try a boat,
Pull'd slawlydoon the river;
Doon tiv he's oars he camly lies,
When sumthing fasinates he's eyes,
An' myeks him fairlyhaud his hand,
An objeck stickin throo the sand!
Te find oot what it is he lands,
An' plodges te the varry sands
'Wherehe's cawse 0' wundor's barried !

A lump 0' blaek an' dorty wood,
Wes a' that met he's view, man,
Thinks he, "It's like a seuller's starn,
Aw'll gan an' tell a few, man;
We'll seun hed up, an' then we'll see
What at this moment bothers me!"
Bob Cooper wes the forst he met,
An' wi' sum uther eheps, they set
Te hawl an' howk wi' might an' main.
An' lang they tried, an' lang in vain,
Till at last they quite succeeded. "

It's like a boat!" says Bob,"
it is, An' still it's like a tree, man,
We'll heh the sand oot forst, an' then
We'll heh mair chance te se, man!
They clear'd it oat, an' greet surprise
Fill'd a' thor 'stonished, wund'rin eyes,
For a' the boats they'd iver seen
Wes nowt like this or iver been,
For there the lang trunk ov an oak,
Quite worn wi' age, an' little broke,
Wes fashun'd like a boat, man!

"Ne planks or nails wes iver used
Te this," says Jim, "aw's sartin,
It's hollow'd oot frae stem te starn,
An' if it's not a smart un,
It's curious!" " Aye," says Bob, "it is.
Let's tyek't up te yor boat-boose wis,
An' sum larn'd chep we'll mevvies meet,
That's sure te put war noshuns reet!"
War Geordey wes the forst they saw,
An' seun he let them trooly knaw
The greet wundors ov its hist'ry,

Says he, "When boats like this wes used,
They myed them oot 0' trees, man,
They'd burn the body oot the trunk,
An' pare the sides like cheese, man,
An' keep them safe wi' plenty wet,
The fire only myed them swet,
But still it burnt away inside,
Till hollow'd oot,-a boat supplied,
When polish'd offwi' flint, man!

"The boat ye see's an aud kinnoo,
When Seize-her forst teuk Brittin,
Aw heh ne doot him or his chums
The syem wad often sit in;
In fact, aw've heerd a Roman lord
Once teuk se mony foaks on board,
Beside Reedheuff they com a-grund,
The foaks wes saved-the boatwes droon'd!
Aw heh ne doubt but that's just it,
An' if ye'll ony wait a bit,
Ye can sell'd tiv Anty Queer-uns !"

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

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 16 May 17 - 02:01 PM

THE DEETH 0' RENFORTH!
CHAMPION SCULLER OF THE WORLD.

"Y E cruel Atlantic Cable,
What's myed ye bring such fearful news?
When Tyneside's hardly yeble
Such sudden grief te bide.
Hoo me heart its beats-iv'rybody greets,
As the whisper runs throo dowley streets,
'We've lost poor Jimmy Renforth,
The Champein 0' Tyneside !"

HOD sad, hoo unexpected,
What diff'rent news we thowt te hear,
Till dismay'd an' affected,
Heart-broken mourners cried, "
Jimmy Renforth's gyen, wor greet Champein's gyen,
Iva country strange,-away frae hyem,
We've lost poor Jimmy Renforth,
The Champein 0' Tyneside !"

"Oh, Jim, what myed ye leave us?
What myed ye leave the canny toon?
A journey myed to grieve us,
Ye've gyen wi' the last tide,
An' the oar that fell, the last oar that fell
Frae yor helpless hand, just seem'd te tell
That Deeth wes the greet victor
l' races far an' wide!

"Life lost withoot a warnin,
An' stopt yor short but grand koreer,
Then left us stricken, mournin,
Deprived 0' wor greet pride;
Hoo me heart it beats,-iv'rybody greets,
As the whisper runs throo dowley streets,
'We've lost poor Jimmy Renforth,
The Champein 0' Tyneside!'"

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

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 16 May 17 - 01:52 PM

THE CHAPEIN 0' CASSEL GARTH STAIRS!

TEUN- "Billy, me bonny Lad."

Aw warn'd ye've heard 0' wor Johnny,
An eccentric lad is he,
He's sarvin his time as a cobbler
But a snob he'll nivor be;
Tho wi' beuts an' shoes he's suroonded,
For the lot he little cares,
For day-dreams myek him ambishus
Te be Champein 0' Cassel Garth Stairs.

Sum days he thinks he's a booler,
Sweers he can lick Geordy Laws
Or Saint, an' shut Harry Wardle
At ony immoont 0' craws;
He thinks he can beat Stephen Ridley,
An' myek Pete Hewitt say pray'rs,
Tho he nivor says ony his-sel,
He's the Champein 0' Cassel Garth Stairs.

He's such a fellow for chaffin,
He can tawk Jack Spencer dumb,
An' he says that Addy or Bagnall
He cud lick them byeth like fun,
An' one day, whey, he tell'd Mooney
He lairnt Burnett an' Pletts thor affairs,
An' he reckons the strike wes wun
Be the Champein 0' Cassel Garth Stairs.

Johnny says he can beat Bill Walker,
Or Tom Pape ony time he'll swim,
An' Lally at rowin or dancin
Wad heh ne chance wi' him;
He'll play Robie at quoits for a hundrid,
And Jamieson russel for fairs,
If he's as big as Roger Tichborne
He'll thraw him doon Cassel Garth Stairs.

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

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 16 May 17 - 01:42 PM

WE'LL SEUN HEH WARK TE DE!
OR, THE STRIKE 0' '71

TEUN-" Nowt te de."

"ON strike!" aw hear them awful words
Repeated i' the street,
"On strike! ne warkt" aw hear agyen,
Frae hundreds that aw meet;
"Three lang munths gyen,-not sattled yit!
Wor hard-up as can be,
It cannet last, thor'll be a change,
We'll seun heh wark te de!"

Korus,

Walkin roond the Market,
An' walkin doon the Kee,
The only cheerin words aw hear's
"We'll seun heh wark te de!"

Aw see the poor cheps oot on strike
Gan slowly throo the street,
Tho anxshus for the latest news,
Frev iv'ry one they meet,
They keep up one anuther's hearts,
As honest men shud be,
Wi' hopes the day's not distant when
They'll all heh wark te de !

"Mair forrinersl" aw hear them say,
Then one 'ill shake his heed
"They may get plenty men as cheap,
But is't them that they need?
No, no! it's real mechanicks that
A maister likes te see,
Nine oors te him's a better thing,
Gud men his wark te de!

"At hyem thor's nowt but misery,
Where happy days we've seen.
When plenty wark an' plenty keep
Myed a' things luck soreen,
We'll heh them gud things back agyen,
Seun settled we shall be,
Then forrin culls may tyek thor hook
Frae wark they cannet de!"

We'll seun heh wark te de, me lads!
God bliss us a' we will,
Tyneside 'ill yit victorious shine,
Wi' men 0' worth an' skill,
An' happier days 'ill myek the past
A dream 0' what we see,
Men gud an' true 'ill nivor rue,
We'll seun heh wark te de!"

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

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 15 May 17 - 09:25 PM

MAW BONNY INJINEER

TEUN- "Nice Young Man."

"OH, hinny, what myeks ye luck se glad?
A blithesome fyece heh ye;"
"Me sweetheart's oot ov his time the day,
Aw's like te happy be;
Aw've been up tiv his muther's hoose,
He kiss'd us, bliss his heart,
An' tell'd us that on Munday next
As journeyman he'll start."

Korus.

TEUN-" Rasor-Grinder's Daughter."

"For in me heart aw haud him dear,
Aw only wish that he wes here,
Maw brave, maw bonny Injineer,
That's served his time at Hawthorn's.

"His shopmates say he's just the sort
Te fettle weel at owt,
He's a clivor chep an' a handy chep,
An' nivvor aflaid 0' nowt;
The neet thor gawn te hey a spree,
Thor hevin one the day,
But what's the odds? thor jolly lads,
An' last neet wes the pay!

"But still aw wish the spree wes ower,
For then he'll tawk te me,
An' shortly, seun, aw hey ne doot,
His journeywife aw'll be.
His journeywife wi' him throo life,
Aw wish that we war wed,
For then aw's pairtner ov his hoose,
An' pairtner ov his bed!"

"Me darlin's oot ov his time the day,
What news, aw say, for me,
Aw think his muther might need sum help
Te myek them a' thor tea,
An' help her wi' the hoose turns like,
An' gan oot for the beer,
Aw think aw'll gan, it's me place te be
Beside me Injineer!"

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

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 15 May 17 - 09:15 PM

NEAR THE MANORS STAYSHUN

AIR-" Black·EJled Susan."

NEAR the Manors Stayshun, one Monday morn,
A young lass stud an' wiped her eyes,
Wi' sobs an' sighs, an' a fyece forlorn,
Her story tell'd, wi' moans an' cries,"
Oh, Charley, Charley, where is Charley noo?
l' the Manors Stayshun, wiv a blaggeyord crew!

"What for becawse did ye gan an' fight,
An' brick poor Micky Murphy's nose?
Hoo was't i' three cairds ye teuk delight,
Te swindle a' that wad stand the dose?
Oh, Charley, Charley, where is Charley noo?
l' the Manors Stayshun, under Captain Blue!

"What for becawse did ye steal the watch,
An' steal poor Tommy Dobson's shart?
Hoo was't the Peelers me luv shud catch,
Te turn me heed an' ring me heart?
Oh, Charley, Charley, where is Charley noo?
It's six munse certain, when his case is throo!

"Ye knaw the bairn that aw hey's yor awn,
Ye knaw that aw've been true te ye,
Tho ye nivvor meant te be me man,
Whe'll keep yor bairn, ay, an' whe'll keep me?
Oh, Charley, Charley, where is Charley noo ?
Till the next Assizes, wiv a blaggeyord crew!"

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

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 15 May 17 - 08:57 PM

PERFESSHUNAL LODGERS!

TEUN-"The Yallow Girl that -wink'd at me."

MAN, aw'm nearly gawn oot d me heed,
For aw lodge wi' such queer lodgers,
They kick up such a clatter,
That aw wundor what's the matter,
An' aw think them a real queer breed;
Thor perfesshunal cheps, they say,
A lot 0' Music Hall performers.
They may be varry cliver,
But aw'd like te knaw whativer
Myeks them carryon iv such a way.

Korus.

An' oh, my! aw often try
Te get a bit rest, but when thor nigh
Aw'm sure aw nivvor will,
For they kick up such a clatter,
That aw wunder what's the matter,
For they cannet or they winnet keep still!

I' the mornin the fiddler starts
Te give us a dose ov his scrapin;
Then the sentimentil singer
Just aboot the time for dinner
Myeks us a' fit te brick wor hearts;
Then the comic one's turn begins,
An' he nearly the whole street raises,
What wi' him an' wi' the niggor,
They byeth cut a bonny figgor,
An' the dog-dancer joins i' the din.

Then the chep that plays on the flute
Calls in te see the fiddler;
They play some grand duet
That aw nivvor can forget,
For they byeth leave the teun clean oot;
Then a lass tyeks her turn te squall,
An' screams as if for murder;
It maybe varry bonny,
Or it may be varry funny,
But aw think it's best at the Hall.

Then the lanlady runs upstairs,
An' kicks up a row wi' the sarvint;
Thor always in het wetter,
Pitter, patter, clitter, clatter,
That aw cannet mind me awn affairs;
But that's not the warst ova',
For at neets thor's ne rest for us
Frae twelve te three o'clock,
Why, it's knock, an' knock, an' knock,
Thor the queerest foaks aw knaw.


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

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 15 May 17 - 08:44 PM

WOR PEGGY'S ALBUM!

TEUN-"Postman's Knock."

HERE'S wor Peggy's Album, but what it contains
Aw's sartin wad pussle ye a',
But what's i' the beuk withoot hevin a luck,
Aw'll try te let all on ye knaw.
The first it's a chep that aw knaw nowt aboot,
That she bowt for a penny one day,
Then here's Dolly Scott that 'ill tawk for a munth,
If ye'll lissen tiv owt that she'll say!

Korus.

It's a stunner, me lads, an' ye'll say that aw's reet,
For if Peggy's a cawshun, her Album's a treat.

The third it's a chep wiv a beer-blossim'd fyece,
But hoo he gets drunk pussles me,
He's nivvor at wark-but i' dayleet or dark
He's always the forst iv a spree;
Then here's Harry Palmer, that leeves doon war yard,
He plays on the kornet at neets,
An' ye'll see him sumtimes, iv his rifleman's claes,
Wi' the band, promenadin the streets.

Then here's Nanny Hunter that keeps a bit shop,
An' sells bullets an' claggum for bairns,
She's a canny aud wife, an' aw hope she'll de weel;
The next's an aud maid they call Cairns,
She's off wi' the Mormons, because she lost heart
0' gettin a gud man at hyem;
An' the next it's a lass that aw fancy me-sel,
So aw think aw'll not men shun her nyem.

Then here's Charley Ridley that stands i' the bar,
For the lanlord that keeps the" Black Rat,"
An' lang Mally Todd wiv her mooth gyepin wide,
An' her eyes like aw divvent knaw what;
The last it's wor Geordey, as grave as a priest,
Wiv a greet big bull-dog on his knee;
He's the last i' the beuk, an' aw wish Peggy luck,
May she seun hed as full as can be.

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

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 15 May 17 - 08:00 PM

WHERE IS GEORDEY GYEN?

TEUN- "Homeward Bound."

OH, where-oh, where is wor Geordey gyen?
He'll not gan te wark, or he'll not stop at hyem;
Aw've seen little on him since New Eer's day,
If he'll not gan te wark, he'll get ne pay.

Korus.

Oh! where is Geordey gyen-oh, where?
Oh! where is Geordey gyen?

'Twes the Nine Oors Movement did the trick,
For it suits wor lad ony time te stick:
If Geordey had his awn way, aw knaw,
He wad gan on strike for ne wark at a'!

When the Strike wes on, he wes better off then
Then he wes before, or he'll be agyen,
For he got his beer, an' injoyed his smoke:
When the Strike wes settled, his heart wes broke!

At last, rethur then work-wi' passhun het
He knock'd doon the forst Belgein he met;
An', man, hoo sorry aw was for the lad,
When they sent him for six weeks te quad.

It's true he wes often i' jail before,
But his mates gov him welcum oot wiv a roar;
It's true what aw say, an' de what aw like,
He'll nivvor be reet till thor's anuther Strike!

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

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 15 May 17 - 07:49 PM

MYEK PEACE!

TEUN-"Cappy's the Dog."

MYEK peace I-can ye find any gud iv a row?
Wiv a smack on the nose or a crack on the pow,
Wi' yor skull nearly dayver'd, yor eyes a' but blind,
What gud i' such mischief can anyone find?

Korus,

So aw hope ye'll make peace,
An' yor plissures increase,
Wiv a gud hearty sosheeble
Happy-like peace.

Nivvor eg a man on wiv anuther te fight,
Or get him te hammer sum chep for yor spite,
That's a thing aw knaw often greet cooerds 'ill de,
Myek peace!-ay, an' try te myek a' men agree.

Myek peace I-an' the pollis ye nivvor need fear,
Ye can say te yor-sel that he's not wanted here!
Man an' wife shuddent put one anuther aboot,
An' canny young sweethearts shud nivvor fall oot.

Aw cud nivvor see owt iv a row in the hoose,
But led tiv hard words an' a' kinds ov abuse,
Exposin' affairs te yor neybors se true,
That the forst time ye hear them repeated ye rue.

l' yor unruly moments just think ov me sang,
It 'ill hinder ye surely for dein mair rang,
An' yor sartin te find a' yor plissures increase,
If ye just myek't yor study to heh nowt but peace.

So aw hope ye'll myek peace,
An' yor plissures increase,
Wiv a gud hearty sosheeble
Happy-like peace!

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

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 15 May 17 - 05:37 PM

AN ACROSTIC TO ROBERT STEPHENSON, THE CELEBRATED MUSICIAN, LORD NELSON INN, TRAFALGAR STREET, NEWCASTLE.

R ICH and sweet in harmony,-and jovial as a friend,
O bliging to his customers, one that we'd have attend;
B enevolent to those in need, true as the truest steel,
E nriching the good name he has, one that can make us feel
R espect, and he for ever gains the great respect of all,
T hat love at the "Lord Nelson," in Trafalgar Street to call.

S urrounded by the Talent, and there is a real high class,
T hat gather round their good old friend to have a pipe and glass,
E nchanting all with music in a choice and varied strain,
P rofessionals as jolly, that achieve, and can obtain
H igh test'mony from critics, of abilities their own,
E qualled only by good humour they've already shown;
N umerous are the patrons who oft show how they regard
S tephenson, their favourite, whom they've so often heard
O n the violin, attracted, when the sweetest of all sound,
N ourishes the ear that's charmed when friends are friends all round.

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

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 15 May 17 - 05:29 PM

SNOOKS'S DINAH

TEUN-"Martha, the Milkman's Dowler."

BILL SNOOK'S married a darkey wife,
Aw divvent knaw where he fund her,
But ower the sea she's cum wi' him,
An' filled us a' wi wunder,
Such eyes an' cheeks, such nose an' mooth,
Aw nivvor clapt me eyes on,
But fancy's ivrything they say,
For all it's se surprisin.

Korus.

Frae the heed te the fut,
She's as black as any sur,
Thor may be fair an' finer,
But for a Blackeymoor, aw's sure
Thor's nyen like Snooks's Dinah!

She's a Nigger,-ne half-bred Quadroon,
Thor's ne disputin her breed.
Ne Mullatto or ne Octoroon
Can show a heed like hor heed,
It's a curley, wooley, toosey pow,
Ne turmit aw've seen bigger,
Frae the shoolders te the waist square-built,
She's a heavy-wite black Nigger!

Bill says when they got married he
Wes heavy on the spree then,
The job wes deun-he cuddent help't,
So what wes he te de then?
He got te bed-but oh, next morn,
He thowt the imp 0' evil
Had been his pairtner i the neet,
His bed-mate wes the deevil!

"Oh marcy, divvent tyek us yit!
Aw's not prepared te leave here,"
Bill cried, an' wrung his hands i' grief.
Says she, "Ye needn't grieve here,
For awls yor lawful wedded wife,
Yor choice ov luv an' passhun!
"Me wife!" cries Bill, "yor Bellsebub!
Lord help us, yor a cawshun !"

But efter that, he got used wid,
An' Dinah liked her gud-man,
They really got te 'gree forst-rate,
As married cupples shud, man,
An' when Bill cums hyem frae the pit,
She likes te see him black, as
She thinks he's then mair like her-sel,
Till he says, "Cum wesh me back, lass l"

But lately Dinah's been confined,
Wi' such a little geezer,
A little fellow,-black an' tan,
Drest up i' white te please her,
Billlafft te see them byeth i' bed,
Luckt at one an' then the tuther,
An' wundorin whe on orth it's like,
He kiss'd it for its muther!

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

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 15 May 17 - 05:16 PM

MARTHA GREY

TEUN- "Luv amangthe Roses."

IT might heh been i' Yepril,
Or it might heh been i' May,
When forst aw wes se lucky
As te meet wi' Martha Grey,
She stood behint the koonter,
Byeth reed an' fat wes she;
The hams an' bacon roond her
Had ne such charms te me.
Aw got a half-a-noonce 0' twist,
An' aw wish'd that aw cud steal her,
At forst seet there me heart aw miss'd,
Throo that stoot Pervishun Dealer!

Korus.

They call her Grey,-her measure's just,
She keeps a shop, but gies ne trust;
Since then aw've oftin tried her,
An' aw's ne poor appealer,
But wi' Martha Grey aw hope sum day,
Te be Co-Pervishun Dealer!

Aw axed her for a leeter,
Or aw said a match wad de,
Then frev a box beside her,
She handed two or three;
Aw luckt doon at the matches,
An' then aw luckt at her,
I' hopes her eye wad catch us,
But she stared at the dor.
She teuk ne notis when aw spoke,
What aw meant for a feeler,
A match aw thowt wad end i' smoke,
Wi' that stoot Pervishun Dealer.

Since then aw've gyen there oftin,
Te kort fat Martha Grey,
An' hard aw've tried te soften
Her heart an' myekt give way,
Aw believe that aw've a chance yit,
For sumtimes Martha's eye
Wi' luv 'ill myek advances,
So then aw'll gamely try,
Te captivate byeth wife an' shop,
At Mary's feet aw'll kneel, or
The co-operative questin pop
Te that stoat Pervishun Dealer!

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

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 15 May 17 - 05:06 PM

THE DEFEAT 0' THE COCKNIES!
BE THE COALLY TYNE HEROES, AT THAMES GRAND REGATTA, AUGUST 4th AND 5th, 1868.

TEUN- "Barbary Bell," or the "Wunderful Tallegraff."

AW'LL sing ye a bit sang if ye'll join i' the korus,
Ye'll give us a gud un,-aw's sartin ye will,
For it's all i' the praise i' the Coally Tyne heroes,
The Charnpeins we've had, an' the Champeins we've still;
Tho aw's sad when awthink 0' brave honest Bob Chambers,
Aw's glad the example he set's been weel tyen,
For wor bonny boat-pullers, the best ova' scullers,
Thor lickt for thor equal,-becas they heh nyen.

N00 it's mony a lang eer since game aud Harry Clasper
Astonish'd the Cocknies, an' myed them fight shy,
The Tyneside boat-rowers, se prood 0' thor river,
Kept up the successes for eers its gyen by;
Then Chambers, the Champein ov a' the world's pullers,
Goh the Cocknies a gliff that they'll nivor forget,
Whey, Kelley for six eers dor hardly gan near him,
TiII he knew Bob wes deun,-then he challinsed wor pet!

But lads, thor's stiII gud uns withoot gan te Lundin,
An' where will ye find them but just on the Tyne?
Did ye ivor hear owt like the greet Thames Regatta?
Where the canny Tynesiders se bonny did shine;
Aw wad like te been there te seen a' the lang fyeces,
The Cocknies wad pull when they fund they war deun,
For they nivor imadjind the whole 0' the prizes,
For Champeins, wad cum te wor river as seun.

Thor wes game Jimmy Taylor, Mat Scott, Andrew Thompson,
Wi' the second Bob Chambers te pull the stroke oar,
Com in for the Hundrid withoot ony trubbiI,
Twes easier then ivor its been wun afore;
Then the race for the Pairs, tho twes reckund a grand un,
Just show'd 0' what hard stuff a Tynesider's myed,
For Taylor an' Scott fairly bothered a' Lundin,"
Gox! wor gan te get nowt this time!" Kelley then said.

But the Champeinship race is wor pride an' wor glory,
When brave Jimmy Renforth, se honest an' true,
Led the way before gud men like Sadler an' Percy,
An' the foaks that wes there really sweer that he flew!
He's Champein ov Ingland,-then wish him success, lads,
May he, like poor Bob Chambers, stick weel te the nyem ;
Then gud luck te the Fowers, the Pairs, an' the Champein,
Besides a' the canny boat-pullers at hyem!


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

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 15 May 17 - 04:36 PM

DIVVENT BOTHER US SE!

TEUN-"Kiss i' the Ring."

TE kort me lass aw oftin try,
But mischief shines iv her bonny blue eye,
She'll cock up her nose as aw pass by,
An' she's always pickin her fun oot 0' me,
Says she, "Can aw help't, when ye plague us se?"
"Sartinly," says aw; says she,
"Ye nivor say owt aboot luv te me!"
Says she; says aw, "Aw de!" Says she,
"Haud yor tung, divvent bother us sel"
Says aw, "Whey what can a poor fellow de?
N00 whe will ye hev, if ye winnet heh me?"
Says she, "Haud yor tung, divvent bother us se!"

Says aw, "Aw like ye as wee !as man can,
Roond the world frae Newcassell for ye aw wad gan,
If aw divvent speak fine its as fine as aw can,
An' what else te please ye can ivor aw de?"
Says she, "Ye knaw weel that aw gan wi' Jack Broon,"
"Sartinly," says aw; says she,
"He's the canniest, bonniest lad i' the toon, "
"Is he tho?" says aw, "not he!" Says she,
"Haud yor tung, divvent bother us set Il Says aw,
"De ye think that ye'll frighten me?
Ye knaw that Jack Broon gans wi' Mary McCree,"
Says she, "Haud yor tung, divvent bother us se I"

Says she, "Did aw not see ye the day,
Stoppin an' tawkin te fat Jinny Grey?"
Says aw, "For a frind mun aw gan oot the way,
She wes axin the time, aw wes luckin te see!"
Says she, "Wassent Jinny a sweetheart 0' yors?"
"Sartinly," says aw; says she,
"Ye'll gan wi' byeth new an' aud sweethearts of courseI"
Says she; says aw, "Not me! " Says she,
"Haud yor tung, divvent bother us sel"
Says aw, "It's strange we se seldum agree,
Yor always findin sum faIt wi' me!"
Says she, "Haud yor tung, divvent bother us sel"

Says aw, "For a minnit just lissen te sense,
Aw'll set up a hoose, an' aw'll spare ne expense,
But aw'll want a wife, the set up te mense,
An' awthink that aw cuddent heh better than yel"
Says she, "It's yor turn te pick fun oat 0' me,"
"Sartinly," says aw; says she,
"But if yor in arnist, aw think we'll agree!"
"That's reet," says aw; says she,
"Ye'll promise ne mair te plague us sel"
Says aw, "Yor as daft as a body can be,
Aw'll plague ye far maid" says aw; says she,
"Huts, lad, haud yor tung, divvent bother us se!"

If ye dream ye've seen a ghost, ye may safely calkilate on the
contrary. Thor niver wes ony ghosts, or iver will be, te foaks i'
thor sober senses. So ye may gan te sleep agyen withoot ony fear,
and snore withoot contradicshun. Thor's nebody sees owt 0' the
kind but madmen an' heavy drinkers. If ye want te see one, tyek
a fit 0' Dileerium Trimmins: it's the best recipe aw can gie ye; an'
ye can send thirteen stamps if it toms oot successful. Gratitude's
cheap.

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

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 15 May 17 - 04:11 PM

THAT FACTORY LASS!

TEUN-"Erin go Bragh."

"Oh, Jack, what's the metter? ye luck se doon-hearted,
Whativor's yor trubbil? aw hope ye'll tell me,
Ye luck se dejected, what is't lad? cum tell us,
It pains us te see a yung chep sad as ye."
"Whey, Joe, man, aw'm nearly heart-broken, believe us,
Aw can find ne injoyment i' me pipe or me glass,
Me luv for me Mary's byeth strange an' unsartin,
Aw heh ne peace 0' mind throo that Factory Lass!

"She works i' the fact'ry amang lots 0' lasses,
But nyen 0' the beauties that's there can compare
Wi' the lass that aw's efter,-she's smart an' she's bonny,
Wi' blue eyes, a Wellinton nose, an' reed hair;
Her mooth wad tempt ony te wish they dor kiss them,
Her lucks a' tegither a Queen wad surpass,
But, oh man, aw's frighten'd she cares nowt aboot us,
Ay, an' me deep i' luv wi' that Factory Lass!

"Aw left her one mornin te join the Militia,
An' sairly she cried an' aw hoped 'twes for me,
But noo man, aw doot it, -aw'm not often jealous,
But really aw've seen what aw'd rether not see.
She wesleet-myed an' canny the mornin aw left her,
But noo she's se stoot, that the neybors a' pass
Remarks--when aw hear them aw shudder an' fear that
She's been false te me hes that Factory Lass!

"Aw sumtimes imadjin aw shud marry sweet Mary,
But if aw propose man, aw've ne courage wid,
For aw've thowt te me-sel that thor might be sumbody,
Had mair reet te her, ay, an' mair reet te did.
So aw feel se unhappy, the whole toon aw wander,
But whativor shud happen, whativor shud pass,
Aw promise te tell ye the next time aw meet ye,
Aw'm as daft as a feul throo that Factory Lass!"


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

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 14 May 17 - 11:32 PM

LET'S HEV A ROW, BUT DINNET SULK!

A RECITASHUN

"LET's hey a row, but dinnet sulk,
We'd better fight it oat,"
Says Charley Batey tiv his wife,
One day when put aboot;
"Aw'd seuner hey a row just noo,
Then hear ye sigh a' day,
Ye'l! myek us that aw'll leave the hoose,
De ye knaw that it's the pay? "

Let's hey a row, but dinnet sulk,
We hardly spoke last week;
De ye think that aw can leeve wi' ye,
If ye refuse to speak?
What gud can't de yor sulkin se?
We'd better settled noo,
Ye'll myek us de sumthing that's rang,
An' then find time te rue!

"Let's hev a row; but dinnet sulk,
Ye say aw spent the brass
Aw myed last week for owertime,
That vexes ye, me lass;
An' if aw·did-it's reet aw shud,
Ye knaw aw wanted claes,
Aw diddent thraw'd away on drink,
Or any such like ways.

"Let's hey a row, but dinnet sulk,
That froon wes nivvor seen
Upon yor broo, when lad an' lass,
We byeth had turn'd iteteen;
Ye'll not speak yit,-ye'll myek us flee
Te drink, or sumthing bad,
Are ye gan daft ?-ye winnet speak,
Or is't me that's gawn mad?

"Aw've bowt sum claes, maw canny wife,
An' still yor iv a rage;
Aw'd better tyek me owertime,
Then meddle wi' me wage,
An' still ye sit an' groan as tho
Aw'd teun yor best heart's blud,
But Time wi' ye's myed weary wark
Yor temper's not se gud!

"Let's hey a row, but dinner sulk,
Aw'd like te hear a word
Frae them reed lips, that once aw thowt
Wad nivvor breed discord;
Aw'd rethur hear ye call us owt,
An' vex us till aw's sair,
Then see yor aggravatin fyece,
Sit sulkin i' that chair!

"Yor smilin noo, that bonny broo
Lucks brighter then it was,
Cum te me airms, maw cumley pet,
An' let's heh ne mair cause
Te myek us use reproachful words,
Let's lead a happy life,
An' nivvor let yor husbind think
He's got a sulky wife!"

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

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 14 May 17 - 11:13 PM

MY TWENTY-FORST BIRTHDAY!

THERE'S a time in life when sadness,
Like a shadow disappears,
And our hearts rebound with gladness,
As we welcome coming years;
And the years that's gone before us,
Like a fleeting, happy dream,
Bring back sweet recollections
Of a life that's pass'd serene.
And on each successive birthday,
How we gladly gather round,
And give welcome to that circle
Where true friendship we have found;
And we bless each trusted comrade
With an honest open heart,
The days so bright we prophesied,
Re-echo'd in each heart.

In the earliest prime of manhood,
There's a dear delightful page
In life's history,-one-and-twenty
Is the flower of an age,
And an age when manly feelings
At the festive board abounds,
And the cheering, treasured faces
Of the friends we love, surround
The glad scenes on such occasions;
And on this occasion, I
Give the hand of "auld acquaintance,"
And in this, my best reply,
To the wishes kindly given,
And the health you drink to me,
May you know life's great enjoyment,
And each day as happy be,
As your best of friends could wish you;
And when many years are gone,
May we find that charm in birthdays,
As we do,-when twenty-one!


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

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 14 May 17 - 08:56 PM

HE WES RECKOND GUD·HEARTED!

TEUN-"Erin, my Country."

BOB REPTON wes reckond a gud-hearted fellow,
As gud an' kind-hearted as ony can be,
For spending his muney he waddent be thwarted,
But treat onybody-when oot on the spree,
At hyem, what a diff'rence, se mean an' se stingey,
He'd hammer the wife,an' the poor bairneys, tee;
An' wi' moans he wad fill a' the hoose, aud an' dingey,
An' myek't just as miserable as it cud be.

Bob Hepton wes reckond a gud-hearted fellow,
Whereivor he show'd his fyece, jolly ye'd say;
He wes pick 0' the sports, an' at dancin or singin,
Wes pride 0' the kumpney, an' king 0' the gay;
The syem time his unhappy wife at hyem starvin,
Wes tryin wi' toilin te aim a bit breed,
An' the bairns wi' thor cries myed the poor body narvis,
Se narvis, she nearly wes oot ov her heed.

Bob Hepton wes reckond a gud-hearted fellow,
Wi' fine tung for wimmin, an' jokes for the men,
An' ne thowts 0' the hyem he had-heartless, disarted
He wad treat them agyen, an' agyen, an' agyen;
The syem time at hyem his poor little son Charley,
Wiv a feverish sickness wes wastin away,
Wi' nqwt else, but only sum wetter an' barley,
Te wet his dry lips a' the neet an' the day.

Bob Hepton wes reckond a gud-hearted fellow,
He knew hoo te humour the foaks that he met;
"A real dashin chep l" they wad whisper amang them,
An' myek him thor plissure, thor pride, an' thor pet;
But at hyem, like ademon, diffishunt 0' feelin,
He'd gloat on the mis'ry successfully myed,
An' false te that hyem-like an imp ova' evil,
A doubbil-fyeced, cruel, heartless life Hepton led.

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

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 14 May 17 - 08:48 PM

WE'LL NIVVOR INVlTE THEM TE TEA ONY MAlR!

TEUN-"TheLain! 0' Cockpen."

THE tyeble luckt canny, an' cosey, an' full,
An' aw sat wi' the bairn on wor aud three-leg'd steul,
An' its muther luckt really as happy as me,
For that day we'd invited sum frinds te thor tea.

Thor wes Dick an' Nan Temple, two frinds that we'd knawn
As a canny young lass an' a canny young man,
They had faithfully promised that Sunday at three,
Wi' two or three mair frinds, te cum an' tyek tea.

So wor Mally myed up, on the Seturday neet,
Bowt spice loaf an' fancy kyecks, ivrything sweet,
An' wi jillies an' marmilades really myed free,
Fairly meant te luck decent when frinds com te tea.

So on Sunday, when dinner wes ower that day,
Like a gud handy hoosewife she clear'd things away,
An' wor new tyeble-cloth, just as white as cud be,
Had a real grand invitin appearance for tea.

The cups wes a' set, an' the wigs nice an' het
Wes butter'd, then cut upse neat be me pet,
An' the bairn, wiv a lump iv its hand, full 0' glee,
Seem'd te knaw thor wes sumbody cummin te tea.

The clock had gyen two, an' then three, an' half-past,
We porswayded wor-sels it wes ivor se fast,
For we all had gud payshuns till fower let's see,
If they diddent cum seun we wad heh wor awn tea!

When five o'clock struck, man, aw hardly cud speak,
An' me wife, wi' the blud rushin a' tiv her cheek,
Smash'd two cups, oot 0' humour wivher awnsel an' me,
We sat doon without ivor a word te wor tea.

Iv a' disappointments-aw pity the fate
0' them doom'd for promises broken te wait,
When they once did te me, whey aw firmly declare,
That aw'll nivor invite them te tea ony mair!

Aw wad like te shake hands wi' the man that can
please iverybody. He mun be one d them phinomenons
that ne generation 'ill iver leeve te see.



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

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 14 May 17 - 03:04 PM

MISTRESS THOMSINS LODGER

TEUN- "Ow Mary."

Aw warn'd ye've heard 0' Rodger?
That's Mistress Thomsin's lodger,
He's teun his hook, an' sloup'd them a',
An', ay, but he's a dodger;
He's got se much i' debt there,
He's caws'd them a' te fret there,
They nivvor thowt he'd be se bad,
For he wes a greet pet there!

Korus

" Oh! Mistriss Thomsin,
What will ye de?" says a' the neybors;
"Oh, Mistriss Thomsin,
Yor lodger, Rodger's ron away."

He korted Thomsin's dowter,
Tho mony a lad had sowt her,
She thowt se much 0' Rodger, faith,
That money waddent bowt her;
He wun thor whole affeckshuns,
Wi' boasts 0' high conneckshuns,
An' wheedling wayshe got thor praise,
But noo it's awful vexin.

He's a quarter back i' rent, tee,
Besides sum money lent, tee,
The landlady advanced him owt,
An' away wi' all he went, tee.
What bad, what mean behavour,
Te pay the aud wife's labour
Wi' nowt but base ingratitude,
Besides he jew'd the neybors!

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

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 14 May 17 - 02:53 PM

MARRY THE LASS!

TEUN-"Billy, me bonny Lad."

MARRY the lass, Sep Riley,
Myek her as gud as yor-sel,
An' then she'll be warse then ivor she wes,
It wes just throo ye she fell;
She once wes a decent bit milk-lass,
As decent as any can be,
N00 a' the foaks luck doon upon her,
An' ye knaw it's just throo ye.

Marry the lass, Sep Riley,
If just te give her a nyem,
For ye knew she once had a gud un,
An' disarves te keep the syem;
She's workin as hard as a lass can,
Te keep her-sel ivry day,
The time 'ill seun cum when she cannet,
Marry her noo-when ye may!

Marry the lass, Sep Riley,
Ye often tell'd her ye wad,
Ye knaw that she thinks a vast 0' ye,
Vor the only lad she's had;
If ye dinnet, aw's sure she'll be heart-broke,
She's gettin warse ivry day,
Ye knaw she hes gossipin neybors,
That divvent care what they say,

Marry the lass, Sep Riley,
If ye'd only seen her cry,
When she thowt nebody beside her,
I' the lane that's just hard by;
Aw's sure it wad myed ye relent, lad,
It wad turn a heart 0' styen,
Te hear the poor thing when she'ssobbin,
Sobbin an' sighin alyen!

Marry the lass, Sep Riley,
She'll myek ye a canny bit wife,
Tho aw's sartin she's ower gud for ye,
For ye've been her bane throo life;
Her fethur 'ill set up the hoose, lad,
Her muther 'ill help her, tee,
So marry, an' give her a nyem, lad,
If ye divvent=-poor thing, she'll dee!

Marry the lass, Sep Riley,
Bliss ye! ye say that ye will,
An' ye'll nivvor heh cawse te repent it,
Vor heart's i' the reet place still;
Aw'll tell her it's settled for Sunday,
Poor lass, it 'ill myek her glad,
So let's hey a gill on the heed on't,
An' two eftor that, me lad.

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

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 14 May 17 - 12:49 PM

THE MEUN·LEET FLIT !

TEUN-"Ten Thousand Miles Away."

THE neet wes dark, but the cairt wes there,
An' we'd got a frind te drive,
An' we teuk a bottle 0' whiskey wis,
Te keep us all alive,
Te keep us all alive, me lads,
For the times had been se bad,
We'd got ne rent for the lanlord then,
So a meun-leet flit we had.

Korus.

Iv a' the scenes aw knaw,
A meun-Ieet flit beats a',
It myeks ye wundor where ye are,
An' where yor gan te be;
That neet aw'll nivor forget,
When we had the meun-leet flit,
For away on the sly,
Withoot sayin gud-bye,
Wes the best thing we cud de.

The wife had gyen an' packt the things
An' oor or two before,
The bed wesat the windowlang
Afore we reach'd the door;
But when we reach'd the door, me lads,
It seun com tumlin doon,
An' the tyeble wiv a broken leg
Wes next hoy'd oot the room.

The three-legg'd steul fell on Bill's heed,
"Haud on there, mate," he roar'd;
"Shut up, ye feu]," says aw, "be still,"
When doon aw went quite floor'd,
When doon aw went quite floor'd, me lad,
Wi' the bed-pawls on me nose;
"Cum show the leet;" says Jack,
"A' reet," Wi' the poker on his toes.

The crock'ry-ware wes handed next,
Says Bill, "Aw's awful dry
"The clock com tumlin on his fyece,
An' nearly blackt his eye,
An' nearly blackt his eye, me lads,
Its awn fyece strikin his,Says Jack,
"Let's gawn, the cairt's chock-full,
We've mair then wor awn wis!"

We pass'd a street or two quite safe,
An' then the horse wad stop;
The bed-powls, an' the draw'rs as weel,
Com rowlin frae the top,
Com rowlin frae the top, me lads,
An' hoo we a' got hyem
Aw divvent knaw, or dorsint think,
But what a spree we'd then.

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

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 14 May 17 - 12:36 PM

WHERE HEH VE BEEN, LASS'?

TEUN-"Jinny Nettle,"

"WHERE heh ye been, lass? cum an' tell us, Jinny, hinny,
Where heh ye been, lass? stoppin oot se late;
Where heh ye been, lass? cum an' tell yor sister, hinny,
Where heh ye been, lass? lang yeve made us wait;
Aw waddent wundor ye've' been kortin, feelins hortin, wi yor flortin,
Yor play'n the deuse wi' Harry Burton,
Divvent brick he's heart, lass 1"

(Sing the forst fower lines for the Korns.)

"What's that bit frame there, glis'nin like a gooldin ginney?
Is't Harry's portrait ?-heh ye lost yor tung?
What myeks ye frighten'd ?-let us see the pictor, hinny,
Then beside yor awn we'll seun hed nicely hung;
Let's hey a luck, maw canny sister, when aw miss her, hoo aw bliss her,
So cum an' let us cuddle, kiss her,Let us see the portrait! "

Korus.

"What's that aw see, lass? it issent Harry Burton's likeness,
That's Tommy Greener's, ye knaw that he's me lad.
Did he gie ye that ?-tell us, willye, hoo ye got it?
Whe heh ye been with? divvent myek us bad!
Oh, hinny, Jinny, quick an' tell us, for aw's jeIlous,-if the fellow
Fancies ye before yor Bella,Faith aw's fairly deun for! "

Korus.

"Oh, Bella, sister. dinnet think that aw wad harm ye,
Tom gos the portrait, an' tell'd us te gie ye'd;
Doon street we met, an' aw meant te keep't a bit te plague ye,
Noo aw've tell'd ye all aw'm like a pris'ner freed;
Since aw met him aw've been wi' Harry,-canny Harry says he'll marry
Me,-an' noo he's bowt a whurry,
What de ye think 0' that, lass?
That's where aw'vebeen lass,if the truth aw heh to tell ye,
Been wi' me awn lad, canny Harry Burton! "

(Repeat last two lines for last Korus.)

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

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 14 May 17 - 12:22 PM

JACK'S LISTED I' THE NINETY·ITE!

TEUN- "Doran's Ass," or "Finnigan's Wake."

"OH, what's the metter wi' ye, Meg Dawson?
Oh what's the metter wi' ye the day?
Ye luck as if ye war gan demented,
Yor eyes thor stairin just that way!"
"The metter wi' me,-if ye want te knaw then,
Heh ye heard the news frae Mary White?
She says wor Jack for a sowljor's listed,
The heed-strang feul's i' the Ninety-Ite,

"Wiv a lot 0' lads that's se lang been famed
For nowt that's gud, nor they nivor will;
Industrious cheps that wad nivvor work
If they just cud raise a penny gill.
He'll heh teun the shillin te sarve the queen,
Wi' ne idea 0' gannin te fight;
If he thowt thor wes ony chance 0' war,
He wad bid gud-bye te the Ninety-Ite.

"He nivvor liked wark, an' since he wes britch'd
He hessent cared hoo he got his meat;
Wiv his elbows oot he wad trail the streets,
An' the Peelers mark'd him on thor beat.
He wad argey owt for a pint 0' beer,
An' i' dominoes he teuk delite
l' playin a blank tiv a five or six,
They'll not stand that i' the Ninety-Ite.

"On Seturday neets what a swell he was,
Wi' velvet cap an' black curdyroys;
He wes famous for myekin ruffs keep still,
Tho the forst his-sel te myek a noise;
He knew if he married he cuddent keep
A wife,so he teuk one oot 0' spite,
Ay, an' he myed her muther an' her keep him,
A nice young chep for the Ninety-Ite,

"Aw's sartin we'll nivor can buy him off,
For hoo can poor foaks like us did?
What a pity a gud-like fyece an' heed
Like his, shud carry ne brains wid;
Blud's thicker then wetter-that's true eneuff
He's still war awn, tho a cawshun quite,
But bad as he is, they may de him gud,
An' myek him a man i' the Ninety-Ite."

Luv myed Jimmy Jollyfyece walk three miles te se his
sweetheart the barmaid, an' he fund it get that strang
that he cuddent find his way hyem agyen; but paid
five shillins an' costs for the use ov a bed in the New
Pollis Stayshun.

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

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 14 May 17 - 12:09 PM

THE NEYBOR ABUV

TEUN- "When gud luck shows its fyece."

"Aw's a wummin that minds ne affairs but me awn,"
Says lang Nancy Joblin te me,
"But aw think thor's sum things that a body shud knaw,
An' sum things that a body shud see;
There's the neybor abuv been a fortneet upstairs,
An' aw cannet for munny or Iuv
Get te knaw whe she is,-neethur where she cums frae,
She's a myst'ry that neybor abuv;
Yis she is,
She's a queer un that neybor abuv.

"For lucks she wad pass iv a crood, ye wad say,
An' her figor's not really bad myed;
She's got sofa, chairs, cheeney cups, an' gud ware,
An' a new fower-powl feather bed;
An' a fine chist 0' draw'rs, an' a black satin dress,
An' her hand's nivvor clear ov a gluv;
Aw've thowt she's a widow,-but sometimes aw think not,
She's a myst'ry that neybor abuv;
Yis she is,
She's a queer un that neybor abuv!

"The forst Munday neet she went oot te the play,
On Tuesday she went there agyen,
On Wednesday mornin she nivvor got up,
Had her brickfist i' bed aboot ten,
Got her dinner at three,-nivvor had ony tea;
Be the smell ov her breeth aw cud proove
Thor wes sumthing had gyen doon her throttle mair strang,
She's a cawshun that neybor abuv.
Yis she is,
She's a mazer that neybor abuv.

"On Thursday a sowljor ran briskly upstairs,
An' stopt nearly a' the whole day;
A sailor at neet nearly stopt te dayleet,
An' for days they've gyen on i' that way;
But whichivor's her man aw can nivvor conseeve,
For they all appear'd deeply i' luv;
Ne better is she-then a wummin shud be,
She's a cramper that neybor abuv;
Yis she is,
She's a queer un that neybor abuv!

" But last week a noise myed us open me eyes,
For the sowljor an' sailor had met
On the stairs,-an' a fight like a public-hoose row
Teuk place i' the eyes 0' thor pet;
But she stopt it wi' thrawin dorty wetter doon stairs,
Then she hoy'd them byeth oot wiv a shuv;
Aw've seen them ne mair, neether knaw them nor care,
She's a geezer that neybor abuv!
Yis she is,
She's a cawshun that neybor abuv!"

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

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 13 May 17 - 05:07 PM

THE DEETH 0' HARRY CLASPER.

AJR-"Black-Eyed Susan."

SAD, sad's me heart, an' aw greet full sair,
Beside war hero's lowly bed,
Te think aw'll see me aud frind ne mair,
The frind that forst Tyne famous myed;
The forst an' last 0' wor greet Tyneside men,
Poor Harry Clasper, poor Harry Clasper,
Gyen! for ivor gyen!

Sharp wes the blow, like the leetnin's dart,
Deeth claim'd the vet'ran as its awn,
An' filled wi' pain iv'ry beatin heart
For him we'd luv'd, for him we'd knawn;
The forst boat-builder for wor Tyneside men,
Poor Harry Clasper, poor Harry Clasper,
Gyen! ay, deed an' gyen.

He's left the hyem that he luv'd se weel,
The "Coaly Tyne" his constant pride,
The frinds that lang, lang his loss 'ill feel,
An' luv'd ones that he's left beside;
The forst brave Champein 0' war Tyneside men,
Poor Harry Clasper, poor Harry Clasper,
Gyen, ay, deed an' gyen.

Sair, sair he greev'd when Bob Chambers dee'd,
The world's greet Champein he had myed,
Wi' nyems combined, byeth 0' Tyneside breed,
An' honest upreet life they led,
Two gems, examples for a' Tyneside men,
Poor Harry Clasper, poor Harry Clasper,
An' Bob Chambers gyen!

Fareweel, aud frinds, ye've byeth run yor race,
An' mem'ry whispers this te me,
We'll find ne Champeins te fill yor place,
Tyneside affeckshuns clings te ye;
The forst greet heroes amang Tyneside men,
Poor Harry Clasper, poor Harry Clasper,
Au' Bob Chambers gyen!

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

Subject: RE: Songs/Poems of Joe Wilson
From: *#1 PEASANT*
Date: 13 May 17 - 04:58 PM

DE YE SAY SE '?

TEUN-"Wor a Band 0' Bruthers."

OH, me heart's full 0' depresshun,
That aw cannet help expressin,
What ye'll tyek as a confesshun,
0' the luv aw beer for ye;
For aw like ye better, Mally,
Then Nan Robson's dowter Sally,
Tho she's "'Sally in wor Alley,"
Still it's yor the lass for me !

Koddin Korus.

TEUN-"Johnny Smoker."

De ye say se? de ye say se?
Gudness grayshus! de ye say se?
Gudness grashus! de ye say se?

Yis, it's true, Mall, what aw'm sayin,
Tho yor little 'tenshun payin,
Wi' me hopes an' fears yor playin,
Tho it's owt but play te me;
So then pity this sad feelin,
That frae heed te heels is stealin,
An' hev marcy on a keelman,
That wad leeve or dee for ye !

Korus.

Vis, aw say se, yor me dear un,
Then let's hev an answor cheerin,
For a moment stop yor jeerin
On a luv-struck sowl like me,
Then for ivvor aw's yor debtor,
An' aw'll gan te wark far better,
An' aw'll sing when on the wetter,
Wiva heart byeth leet an' free!

Korns.

Vis, aw say se, yor me best un,
An' te ye aw pop the questin,
Ye may really think aw'm jestin,
But aw's seerious as can be;
Then say Yis! aw's iv a hurry,
Aw mun seun gan te me whurry,
If ye say ye winnet marry,
Te the drink aw'll surely flee!
Korus.


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