The Newgate-Street Petition
To Mr. Mayor.

Alack! and well-a-day!
Mr. Mayor, Mr Mayor;
We are all to grief a prey,
Mr. Mayor:
They are pulling Newgate down,
That structure of renown,
which so long hath graced our town,
Mr. Mayor Mr. Mayor.

Antiquarians think't a scandal,
Mr. Mayor, Mr. Mayor;
It would shock a Goth or Vandal,
They declare:
What! destroy the finest Lion
That ever man set eye on!
'tis a deed all must cry fie on,
Mr. Mayor, Mr. Mayor.

St. Andrew's Parishioners,
Mr. Mayor, Mr. Mayor,
Loud blame the Gaol-Commissioners,
Mr. Mayor;
To pull down a pile so splendid,
Shews their powers are too extended,
And the Act must be amended,
Mr. Mayor, Mr. Mayor.

If Blackett- Street they'd level,
Mr. Mayor, Mr. Mayor
Or with Bond-Street* play the devil,
Who would care?
But on Newgate's massive walls,
When Destruction's hammer falls,
For our sympathy it calls,
Mr. Mayor, Mr. Mayor.

'Tis a pile of ancient standing,
Mr. Mayor, Mr. Mayor,
Deep reverence commanding,
Mr. Mayor:
Men of Note and Estimation,
In their course of Elevation,
Have in it helad a station,
Mr. Mayor, Mr. Mayor.

'Tis a first-rate kind of College,
Mr. Mayor, Mr. Mayor,
where is taught much useful knowledge,
Mr. Mayor:
When our fortunes "gang aglee,"
If worthy Mr. Gee**
Does but on us turn his key,
All's soon well, Mr. Mayor.

In beauty, Nought can match it,
Mr. Mayor, Mr. Mayor:
Should you think we throw the Hatche!
Mr. Mayor:
John A____n, with ease,
(In purest Portugueze)
Will convince you, if you please,
To consult him, Mr. Mayor.

Th'll prove t'ye in a trice,
Mr. Mayor, Mr. Mayor,
'Tis a pearl of great price,
Mr. Mayor:
For of ancient wood or stone,
The value-few or none
Can better tell than John,
Mr. Mayor, Mr. Mayor

Of this Edifice bereft,
Mr. Mayor, Mr. Mayor,
to the Neighbourhood what's left?
Mr. mayor:
The Nuns' Gate, it is true,
Still rises to our view,
But that Modern Babel, few
Much admire, Mr. Mayor.

True, a building 'tis, unique,
Mr. Mayor, Mr. Mayor,
Acharming fancy freak,
Mr. Mayor:
But candour doth impel us,
To won that Strangers tell us,
The Lodge of our Odd fellows,
They suppos'd it, Mr. Mayor.

Still, if Newgate's doom'd to go,
Mr. Mayor, Mr. Mayor.
to the Carliol Croft--heigh -ho!
Mr. Mayor,
As sure as you're alive,
(and long, sir, may you thrive,)
the shock we'll ne'er survive,
Mr. Mayor, Mr. Mayor.

Then pity our condition,
Mr. Mayor, Mr. Mayor,
And stop its demolition,
Mr. Mayor;
the commissioners restrain,
Fropm causing us such pain,
And we'll pay and ne'er comp[lain,
The Gaol-cess, Mr. Mayor.

*Now called Prudhoe St.
**The Gaoler
-In: The Newcastle Song Book or Tyne-Side Songster., W&T Fordyce
Newcastle Upon Tyne.