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THE COLLIER LAD, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: My lad he is a collier lad
Last Line: Chorus — there's not his match, etc.
Subject(s): Mines And Miners; Sons


My lad he is a Collier Lad,
And ere the lark awakes,
He's up and away to spend the day
Where daylight never breaks;
But when at last the day has pass'd,
Clean washed and cleanly clad,
He courts his Nell who loveth well
Her handsome Collier Lad.

Chorus — There's not his match in smoky Shields;
Newcastle never had
A lad more tight, nor trim, nor bright
Than is my Collier Lad.

Tho' doomed to labour under ground,
A merry lad is he;
And when a holiday comes round,
He'll spend that day in glee;
He'll tell his tale o'er a pint of ale,
And crack his joke, and bad
Must be the heart who loveth not
To hear the Collier Lad.

Chorus — There's not his match, etc.

At bowling matches on the green
He ever takes the lead,
For none can swing his arm and fling
With such a pith and speed;
His bowl is seen to skim the green
And bound as if right glad
To hear the cry of victory
Salute the Collier Lad.

Chorus — There's not his match, etc.

When 'gainst the wall they play the ball
He's never known to lag,
But up and down he gars it bowne
Till all his rivals fag;
When deftly — lo! he strikes a blow
Which gars them all look sad,
And wonder how it came to pass
They play'd the Collier Lad.

Chorus — There's not his match, etc.

The quoits are out, the hobs are fix'd,
The first round quoit he flings
Enrings the hob; and lo! the next
The hob again unrings;
And thus he'll play a summer day,
The theme of those who gad;
And youngsters shrink to bet their brass
Against the Collier Lad.

Chorus — There's not his match, etc.

When in the dance he doth advance,
The rest all sigh to see
How he can spring and kick his heels,
When they a-wearied be;
Your one-two-three, with either knee
He'll beat, and then, glee mad,
A heel-o'er-head leap crowns the dance
Danced by the Collier Lad.

Chorus — There's not his match, etc.

Besides a will and pith and skill,
My laddie owns a heart
That never once would suffer him
To act a cruel part;
That to the poor would ope the door
To share the last he had;
And many a secret blessing's pour'd
Upon my Collier Lad.

Chorus — There's not his match, etc.

He seldom goes to church, I own,
And when he does, why then,
He with a leer will sit and hear,
And doubt the holy men;
This very much annoys my heart;
But soon as we are wed,
To please the priest, I'll do my best
To tame my Collier Lad.

Chorus — There's not his match, etc.





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