Resolv’d to cross the _River_, Sirs, a Sculler did I get into, May Jonah’s ill-luck be mine, another when I step into! Just when we’d reach’d the deepest part, O horror! there it founders, And down went poor Pillgarlick amongst the Crabs and Flounders! But fate, that keeps us all in tow, from the monarch to the barber, Ordain’d I should not breathe my last, this morning in the harbour.
I’ve broke down many a stage coach, and many a chaise and gig, Sirs, Once, in passing through a trap-hole, I found myself too big, Sirs, I’ve been circumstanc’d most oddly, whilst contesting hard a race, Sirs, But ne’er was half so frighten’d, as amongst the Crabs and Plaise, Sirs. O fate, Sirs, keeps us all in tow, from the monarch to the barber, Or certainly I’d breath’d my last, this morning in the harbour.
My friends, for your exertions, my heart o’erflows with gratitude, O may it prove the last time, you find me in that latitude; God knows with what mischances dire, the future may abound, Sirs, But I hope and trust I’m one of those, not fated to be drown’d, Sirs.” Thus ended his oration, Sir, I had it from the barber; And dripping, like some _River God_, he slowly left the harbour.
Ye men of _North_ and _South Shields_ too, God send ye all prosperity, May your commerce ever flourish, your stately ships still crowd the sea; Unrivall’d in the Coal Trade, till doomsday may you stand, Sirs, And every hour, fresh wonders, your eyes and mouths expand, Sirs. And long may _Stephen K----_ live, and never may the barber Mistake him for a monster more, deep floundering in the harbour.
SONG, _On the Flight of the young Crows, from Newcastle Exchange; with their Address to the Corporation._
The young brood fairly fledg’d, we may fairly suppose, Half the world must have heard of our Newcastle CROWS? How their _daddy_, bold bird! from a rabble got free, And was fully determin’d a freeman to be! On the _vane_ of the steeple, upon the Exchange, Completed his nest, which beholders thought strange: His bright jetty _consort_ accomplish’d her part, Nor foes, nor foul weather could alter her heart.
Their younglings, quite able to take distant flight, Were told, by their parents, “_Good manners are right_.” To their freedom admitted--they could do no less, Than approach their kind patrons, with humble ADDRESS; To thank them politely, without wanton joke, For, so learned in _swallow_, they must learn to _croak_.-- In a trice----as if ÆSOP himself had inspir’d, They began their address, whilst their hearers admir’d.