Astrilly; or, The Pitman’s Farewell

ASSTRILLY; or, The 
PITMAN'S FAREWELL. 

An Original Local Song by EDWARD CORVAN
AIR — "All  round  my  hat"

Noo, marrows, aw's gawn te leeve ye, an' sair, sair twill grieve me 
Te leave wor canny Tyneside shores, where aw've had mony a spree; 
Tho' it's sair agyen mee likin', tiv Asstrilly aw'll gan hykin', 
For wor maistors keeps us strikin', so what mun a pitman de? 

Aw mind the time when collier lads cud work for goold at hyem, man; 
Dash! aw mind the time when collier lads cud spend a pund each pay; 
But noo the times thor queer, man, we've nowther sangs nor cheer, man: 
When we cannit raise wor beer, man, it's time te gari away. 

Greet men may de a vast, man, but wor fine tiroes thor past, man;
Gosh! aw waddent leave wor canny toon, but aw's forc'd te gan away: 
So aw'll myek ne mair emoshun, but cross the salt sea oshun, 
Where aw've a kind o' noshun when aw owk aw'll get gud pay. 

Aw'll bid fareweel te pit wark, an' howk for lumps  o' goold, man; 
Goshcab! aw'll suen be rich aw've varry little fear; 
So aw'll bid fareweel te mammy, an' maw sweetheart o' the Lammy; 
It's, weel knawn aw's ne hammy — so tiv Asstrilly lads, aw'll steer. 


Spoken, — It's ne use stoppin' here; aw mun gan tiv Asstrilly. Still aw's kind o' flaid when aw cum te think o' bein' sea-sick, an' sailin' ower places where thor's ne bottom! Noo, if the sea was te run oot here, an' a' hands be lost, what — O Lord! — what a nibble aw'd be for a shark! An' thor's Geordie Hall, te ; aw've conswaded him te gan a' aw can. He'd myek a fortin oot there i' ne time! Sic a man for yarbs, tee! He can stuff bird cages an' canaries wiv onny man i' Northumberland. Thou shud see his tarrier bitch — she's a fair hare for rabbits ! Sic a hunter ! Geordie's a greet politishnist as weel: he says he'd suiner hev a reed herrin' at hyem than a beef-steak at Asstrilly. Aw say, what a slaverin' cull! Thor's nowt 'ill stop me frae gannin'. What odds if aw's drooned three or fower times, as lang as aw get there safe!


O, fare ye weel, ye happy scenes, where youthful days aw've spent, man! 
Fare ye weel! for better times 'boot here thor'll nivver be. 
So aw munnet be a gowk, man, but for goold aw'll gan an howk, man, 
Tho' maw boiley aw may bowk, man, aw'll seun skim ower the sea. 


[Stewart's No 6, published by W Stewart, Newcastle-on-Tyne]