Bessy of Blyth
A virtouous woman is more precious than rubies.
written in 1826

In Cramlington we've bonnie lasses enow,
With cheeks red as roses, and eyes black or blue;
But Bessy of Blyth I love better than onie--
My heart is still there with my own dear honey.

My uncle says, Robin, why sure you are mad,
To slight Suky Swan--she's worth money, my lad!
Dear uncle, says I, I'll ne'er marry for money,
And none will I have  but my own dear honey.

Her face I compare to the blush of the morn,
Her breath to the scent of the fresh-blossom'd thorn;
For virtue and sense she's not equall'd by monie--
Few, few can compare with my own dear honey.

As in this world of care there is nought we approve,
Compar'd to the faithful good wife that we love;
To sweeten life's sorrow, the gall mix with honey,
I'll wed my dear Bess, and a fig for their money.

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