By M.W. of North Shields. Ye sons of Sunderland, with shouts that rival ocean’s roar, Hail Burdon in his iron boots, who strides from shore to shore! O may ye firm support each leg, or much, O much I fear, Poor Rowland may o’erstretch himself in striding ’cross the Wear! A patent quickly issue out, lest some more bold than he, Should put on larger iron boots, and stride across the sea! Then let us pray for speedy peace, lest Frenchmen should come over, And, fol’wing Burdon’s iron plan, from Calais stride to Dover. |