There was bold Sidney Smith, on the Palestine shore, Made the _army invincible_ lie all in gore; When caught in his Mouse Trap[17] at _Acre de John_, Bonaparte (then Musselman) made a sad moan. Sons of Tyne, &c. The brave Abercromby shed his last drop of blood, At Alexandria, for his country’s good: And shall _Corsican Tyranny_ ever come near To Britannia’s shores?--No! we’ll all volunteer. Sons of Tyne, &c. He threats to invade us, and plunder us too, And make us a _province_! but that will not do. If he come, we will shew him a handful of men, Who will take him in Trap, like Sir Sidney again. Sons of Tyne, &c. Bonaparte’s bravadoes we’ll treat with disdain, Like the heroes of Britain, who rule on the main; We will boldly stand forward in Britannia’s cause, To protect her religion, her liberty and laws. Sons of Tyne, &c. [17] The seamen call the breach made in the walls at St John de Acre, while Bonaparte was in Egypt, the _Commodore’s Mouse Trap_. MARY OF THE TYNE. What pleasure oft ’tis to reveal The pain or rapture which we feel; ’Tis bliss while either we impart Unto a sympathetic heart, Just like to that sweet heart of thine, My lovely Mary of the Tyne. I lose, when near thee, all my care, When from thee, I am all despair; My bosom heaves with anxious pain, Until I meet with thee again, What are these adverse pangs of mine, My lovely Mary of the Tyne? Say, is it from thy beauteous face, Or is it from thy nat’ral grace, Or is it thy angelic mind, Or is it ev’ry one combin’d, Making one sweet form divine, My lovely Mary of the Tyne? Should it be love, thou’dst sure forgive? That is the food on which I live; But if thou should’st that bliss deny, Then must thy faithful lover die; Or linger out his life supine, For lovely Mary of the Tyne! NEWCASTLE FAIR--October, 1811. _The Pitman a drinking of JACKY._ (English Gin. This liquor has various names in different parts of the country. At a village in the western part of Northumberland, the editor heard it called Blue Dick.) By J.S. _Tune_--Drops of Brandy. Ha’ ye been at Newcastle fair, And did ye see ouse o’ great Sandy? Lord bliss us! what wark there was there; And the folks were drinking of brandy. Brandy, a shilling a glass! Aw star’d, and thought it was shamful. Never mind, says aw, canny lass, Give us yell, and aw’ll drink ma wameful. Rum te idily, &c. Says she, Canny man, the yell’s cawd; It comes frev a man they ca’ Mackey, And my faith it’s byeth sour an’ awd; Ye’d best hev a drop o’ wour jacky. Your jacky! says I, now what’s that? I ne’er heard the neame o’ sic liquor. English gin, canny man, that’s flat. And then she set up a great nicker. Rum te idily, &c.