The Humble Petition of the Old House in the Shield Field
To John Clayton, Esq.

To fall ne'er enter'd in my head,
So staunch is all my station--
As little dreamt I ere to dread
The ills of innovation.
Who can deny my dignity,
Tho I put little state on,
Outshining sham benignity,
My canny Mr. Clayton?

Loong since my roof has rung to song,
And smil'd on gay carouses,
Newcastle then--though now so throng-
Was somewhat scant of houses:
I've stood so long, nor Bourne nor Brand
My days can place a date on,
So even spare me still to stand,
My canny Mr. Clayton.

Newcastle now, like Greece or Rome,
Gives all the world a mazer,
And Mister Grainger has become more like Nebuchadnezzar:
Build houses till ye touch the sun,
Aye work both soon and late on,
But do not try on me such fun,
My canny Mister Clayton.

Yon villas fine--with all their sneers-
Time will not have to hallow,
Ere they haave seen one-tenth my years,
Their sites will lie in fallow;
So do not think I envy them,
though pompously they prate on:
They're sprigs, but I''m a sober stem,
My canny Mister Clayton.

Then say the word, my lease renew,
And win a wreath of glory--
A bard of Tyne will sing of you,
All in my upper story.
Who lays disporting hands on me,
All ills may pour his pate on,
So be advis'd, and let me be,
My canny Mister Clayton

-R Gilchrist  -In: The Newcastle Song Book or Tyne-Side Songster., W&T Fordyce
Newcastle Upon Tyne.