Masquerade At Newcastle Theatre
Or, The Pitman turned Critic

As Jemmy the brakesman and me
Was taukin 'bout sentries and drill,
We saw, clagg'd agyen a yek-tree,
A fower-square little hand -bill.
Says Jemmy, Now halt tiv aw read her;
When up cam wor canny au'd Sairgan:
Says he, Ye mun come to the Teapot,
On Friday, and get yor dischairge, man.

Chorus-

Sol de rol, &c.

We dress'd worsels smart, cam to toon,
Mister Government paid us wor brass:
Then we swagger'd off to the Hauf Meun,
To rozzel wor nobs viv a glass.
We sang, smok'd and fuddled away,
And cut mony a wonderful caper;
Says aw, Smash! howay to the Play,
Or, what some folks ca' a Theater.

We ran, and seun fand a good playce,
Aye, before they'd weel hoisted their leets;
When a lyedy, wi' gause ower her fyece,
Cam an' tummel'd over twe o' the seats.
Aw hardly kend what for to say;
But says aw, Div ye fin owse the warse?
Says her neybeur, Pop Folly's the Play,
and Maskamagrady's the Farce.

The Playeres the cam on iv dozens,
wiv fine dusty buits without spurs;
And they tauk'd about mothers and cousins,
So did Jemmy and me about wors.
We had plenty o'fiddlin and fleutin,
Till the bugles began for to blaw;
Then aw thowt aw heerd wor Major shootin,
Fa' in, my lads! stand in a raw!

We then see'd a little smart chap,
Went lowpin and skippin aboot;
Says aw, Smash! thou is up to trap!
For he let the fokes byeth in and out.
There was Fawstaff, a fat luikin fellow,
Wiv a Miss in each airm, being drunkey;
Then a black Lyedy, wiv a numbrella,
A fillder, a bear, and a monkey.

Next cam on a swaggerin blade,
He's humpt o' byeth shouthers an' legs;
A blackymoor, painter by trade,
And o' dancing was myekin his brags:
When a collier cam on, quick as thowt,
Maw sarties! but he gat a pauler;
Says he, Smash! aw'll dance thou for owt;
Then says aw, Five to fower on Kit Swaller!

He danc'd the Keel Row to sic tune,
His marrow declar'd he was bet:
som yell ower Kit's shouthers was slung,
So they byeth had their thrpples weel wet.
A lyem sowger cam on wiv twee sticks,
Then a busy-tail'd pinkey wee Frenchman;
Next a chep, wiv some young lunaticks,
Was wanting the mad-house at Bensham.

There was Punch fed his bairn wiv a ladle,
And ga'd some kirn milk for to lyep;
Then he thumpt it till he wasn't yebbel,
Because the poor thing cuddent gyep.
Some were shootin shoe-ties iv a street;
Lang Pat, wiv his last dyin speeches,
Wagg'd hands wiv a lass, that, yen neet,
Tuik seven-pence out o' maw breeches.

Then a gentleman's housey tuik feyre,
As the watchman caw'd Past ten o'clock!
The manny fell into the meyre,
And the wife ran away iv her smock.
The Skipper that saddled the cow,
And rig seven miles forthe howdy,
Was dancing wiv Janny Bawloo,
That scadded her gob wiv a crowdy.

Then a chep, wiv a show on his back,
Cam and show'd us fine pictures, se funny;
He whupt it a' off in a crack,
Because they wad gether ne money.
to end with, there cam a Balloon,
But some gav it's puddings a slit man;
For, afore itgat up to the meun,
It  emptied itsel i' the pit, man.

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