Chapter XIII: Part III (7)

_A._ He did promise and vow three things in my name. First, that I should renounce all idea of liberty, and all such nonsense. Secondly, that I should be well harassed with drill. And, thirdly, that I should stand up to be shot at whenever called upon so to do; and I heartily hope our Colonel will never call me into such a perilous position.

_Q._ Rehearse the Articles of thy Belief.

_A._ I believe in the Colonel most mighty, maker of Sergeants and Corporals; and in his deputy the Major, who is an officer by commission, and rose by turn of promotion, suffered the hardships of the field-service, marching and fighting; he descended into trials; after the wars he rose again; he ascended into ease, and sitteth on the right hand of the Colonel, from whence he will come to superintend the good from the bad. I believe in the Adjutant; the punishment of the guard-room; the stopping of grog; the flogging with cats; and the certainty of these things lasting. Amen.

_Q._ How many Commandments may there be?

_A._ Ten.

_Q._ What are they?

_A._ The same which the Colonel spake in the standing orders, saying, I am thy Colonel and commanding officer, who commands thee in the field and in quarters.

I. Thou shalt have no other Colonel but me.

II. Thou shalt not make to thyself any sergeant or corporal, that is in any European regiment above, or in any Sepoy regiment below, neither shalt thou salute them; for I thy Colonel am a jealous Colonel, and visit the iniquities of my men unto the third and fourth with stripes, and promote those who obey me and keep my standing orders.

III. Thou shalt not take the name of thy Colonel in vain, for I will not call him a good man who shall do so.

IV. Remember that thou attend church parade. Six days shalt thou have for drill and field-days; but on the seventh day thou shalt have no drill, thou, nor thy fire-lock, nor thy pouch, nor thy pouch-belt, nor thy ammunition, or any of thy appointments: for six days are sufficient for these things, and I like to rest on that day; wherefore I order church parade--attend to it.

V. Honour thy Colonel and thy Major, that thy comfort may be long in the regiment you are in.

VI. Thou shalt not get drunk on duty.

VII. Thou shalt not be absent from drill.

VIII. Thou shalt not sell thy kit.

IX. Thou shalt not come dirty to parade.

X. Thou shalt not covet thy pay-sergeants’s coat, nor his place, nor his pay, nor his sword, nor his perquisites, nor his wife, nor his authority, nor any thing that is his.

_Q._ What do you chiefly learn by these commandments?

_A._ I learn two things: my duty towards my Colonel, and my duty towards my pay-sergeant.

_Q._ What is your duty towards your Colonel?

_A._ My duty towards my Colonel is to believe in him, to fear him, to obey all his orders, and all that are put in authority under him, with all my heart; to appear before him as a soldier all the days of my life; to salute him, to submit to him in all respect whatever; to put my whole trust in him, to give him thanks when he promotes me, to honour him and his commission, and to serve him as a soldier. Amen.

_Q._ What is your duty towards your pay-sergeant?

_A._ My duty towards my pay-sergeant is to attend to his directions, to look to him for pay and allowances, and all supplies of clothing; to borrow four shillings and give him five in return, to sign all books and papers he may require, and to never doubt his word in any thing.

_Q._ Let me hear you say your prayers.

_A._ Our Colonel, high in rank, honoured be thy name; may thy promotion come; thy will be done by thy sergeants, corporals, and privates. Give me my daily allowance of pay; and forgive me my crimes as I should forgive my comrade soldier. And lead me not to the triangles; but deliver me from them; and thine shall be the honour, thine the power, for ever and ever. Amen.

_Q._ What desirest thou in this prayer?

_A._ I desire my Colonel, our commanding officer, to extend his kindness to me and all my comrades; that we may honour him, serve him, and obey all his orders as we ought to do. And I pray unto him that he will be merciful unto us, and forgive us our crimes; and that he will lead us on to the defence of our country and Queen. And this I trust he will for his honour and renown; and therefore I say, Amen, and Amen.

THE DRUNKARD’S CATECHISM.

_Question._--What is your name?

_Answer._--Drunken Sot.

_Q._--Who gave you that name?

_A._--As drink is my idol, landlords and their wives get all my money; they gave me that name in my drunken sprees, wherein I was made a member of strife, a child of want, and an inheritor of a bundle of rags.

_Q._--What did your landlords and landladies promise for you.

_A._--They did promise and vow three things in my name, first, that I should renounce the comfort of my own fire side; secondly, starve my wife and hunger my children; thirdly, walk in rags and tatters, with my shoe soles going flip flap all the days of my life.

_Catechist._--Rehearse the articles of thy belief.

_Answer._--I believe in the existence of one Mr Alcohol, the great head and chief of all manner of vice, the source of nine-tenths of all diseases; and I not only believe, but am sure that when my money is gone and spent, the landlord will stop the tap and turn me out.

_C._--How many commandments have ye sots to keep?

_A._--Ten.

_C._--What be they.

_A._--The same which the landlord and landlady spake in the bar, saying, We are thy master and thy mistress who brought thee out of the paths of virtue, placed thee in the ways of vice, and set thy feet on the road which leadeth to New South Wales.

I.--Thou shalt use no other house but mine.

II.--Thou shalt not make to thyself any substitute for intoxicating drinks, such as tea, coffee, ginger-pop and lemonade; for I am a jealous man, wearing the coat that should be on thy back, eating thy children’s bread, and pocketing the money which should make thee and thy wife happy all the days of thy life.

III.--Thou shalt not use my house in vain.

IV.--Remember that thou eat but one meal on the Sabbath day. Six days shalt thou drink and spend all thy money, but the seventh day is the Sabbath, wherein I wash my floor, mend my fires and make ready for the company the remaining part of the day.

V.--Thou shalt honor the landlords, the landladies, and the gin-shops with thy presence, that thy days may be few and miserable, in the land wherein thou livest.

VI.--Thou shalt commit murder, by starving, hungering, and beating thy wife and family.

VII.--Thou shalt commit self-destruction.

VIII.--Thou shalt sell thy wife’s and children’s bread and rob thyself of all thy comforts.

IX.--Thou shalt bear false witness when thou speakest of the horrors, saying, Thou art in good health when labouring under the barrel fever.

X.--Thou shalt covet all thy neighbour is possessed of; thou shalt covet his house, his land, his purse, his health, his wealth, and all that he has got, that thou mayest indulge in drunkenness, help the brewer to buy a new coach, a pair of fine horses, a new dray, and a fine building, that he may live in idleness all his days; likewise to enable the landlord to purchase a new sign to place over his door, with “Licensed to be drunk on the Premises” written thereon.

THE DRUNKARD’S LOOKING GLASS!

What will the drunkard do for ale?
Shall I unfold my dreadful tale?
Yes, I’ll unfold it if I can,
To benefit a drunken man.

What will a drunkard do for ale?
It will make a sober man turn pale,
Sell his hat and pawn his coat,
To satisfy his greedy throat.

Sell his stockings and his shirt,
Strut about in rags and dirt,
Sell his shoes from off his feet,
And barefoot go about the streets.

What will he do to gain his end?
He will deceive his dearest friend,
His crafty plans he will devise,
And tell the most atrocious lies.

What will a drunkard do for ale?
Dark and dismal grows my tale;
Sell his bedstead and his bed,
Nor leave a place to lay his head.

Sell his blankets and his sheets,
Lie in barns or walk the streets,
His thirsty soul will cry for more,
He’s starved and miserably poor.

He’ll beg for half-pence when he can,
And say he is a dying man;
But if three half-pence he has got,
He’ll go and find another sot.

As mean and shabby as himself,
A dirty, ragged, drunken elf,
In some alehouse corner seated,
Waiting longing to be treated.

They freely enter into chat,
If they can but catch a flat;
With every one they will be friends,
If they can but gain their ends.

Then with his bosom full of strife,
Each man goes home to beat his wife,
The children beat and sent to bed,
Because the wretches have no bread.

No meat, no butter have they got,
Such is the dwelling of a sot,
The wife in tears and ragged too,
Say, drunkard, is my statement true?

THE DRUNKARD’S FAREWELL TO HIS FOLLY!

Farewell landlords, farewell jerry’s,
Farewell brandy, wine, and sherry,
Farewell horrors and blue devils,
Farewell dens of midnight revels.

Farewell fires that have no coals on,
Farewell shoes that have no soles on,
Farewell children with wry faces,
Farewell to the pop-shop races.

Farewell wash and all wash vendors,
Farewell duns and all dun senders,
Farewell landlords and your spouses,
Farewell spiders and your houses.

Farewell to your noise and babble,
Farewell to your foolish gabble,
Farewell pockets that are empty,
Farewell landlords, you’ve had plenty.

London:--H. Such, Printer, 123, Union Street, Boro’--S.E. Established 1846.

NEW BEER HOUSE ACT,

To be observed by all Beer Sellers and Beer Drinkers throughout England, and to be in force as long as the people will stand it.

Now it has pleased the Lords spiritual and temporal of this miscalled free and happy England, to look with an eye of pity on the working classes; and feeling for all those who are fond of their beer, have passed a bill called the New Beer House Act, and all persons breaking the same will have to look out for squalls.

Clause 1. Be it enacted, that any person wishing to open a place for the sale of beer, wine, ale, cider, or swankey, shall give notice of the same to the overseers, churchwardens, town crier, and parish beadle, of the parish wherein he lives, and stick one on the door of the church or chapel, if there is one, and if not, he must pin one on the seat of his breeches, and walk round the said parish from ten in the morning till five in the afternoon, for two consecutive Sundays, or live upon skilly for one month.

2. Any person keeping a house for the sale of any land of fermented liquor, and who shall dare to keep the said house open one moment after the clock has said cut it, and sell one half pint of malt tea, he shall for the first offence have his head shaved, and for the second shall be imprisoned for a term not exceeding his natural life.

3. Any keeper of any refreshment house who shall have the cheek to sell, or cause to be sold, one glass of cooper, or one quarter of Watling’s pork feed to any person, without being cock sure that his character is strictly moral, he shall not draw another drop for 12 calendar months. This clause does not refer to the tribe of Overend and Gurney’s, or any one connected with the Albert Assurance Company, or, in fact, any gentlemanly swindlers whatever.

4. No chandler shop keeper, fruit shop keeper, or shop for the sale of lollipops, shall dare to sell small beer or shandy-gaff to any wayfarer during the hours stated in the act, or they will have to pay 40s., and forfeit the swankey for Her Majesty’s own private use.

5. It is enacted that a body of vigilant officers from each, division of police to be called the tasters, whose duty shall be to enter such houses as they may think fit, swallow all they can find, and see that none of the working classes get half seas over.

6. All brewers’ grooms, or draymen, shall sponge their horses on Saturday night, lest they should smell of malt on the Sunday.

7. All persons who are in the habit of getting tight on Saturday night, are requested to drink one quart of half-and-half before closing time, lest they should be thirsty next morning.

8. All persons who have a custom of taking a stroll into the country on a Sunday to get a blow after their week’s labour, or enjoy a picnic at Hampstead or Wimbledon, will do well to provide themselves with stone bottles, labelled cold tea, as there will be no such a thing as bona-fide travellers while the new Beer House Act is in force.

9. All persons are forbidden to use any bottles, jugs, glasses, or tea cups that has contained beer on Saturday night, without well scalding out on the Sunday morning.

10. And woe betide any woman who is caught with a flask containing cholic drops in her pocket.

11. All cowkeepers or dairymen are cautioned against feeding their cows on grains, lest the milk should give the tea a beery flavour.

12. All publicans and beer shop keepers are to place a wet blanket over their chimney pots, close the windows, and stop up the key holes, lest the smell should offend the framers of the New Beer House Act.

13. Any person who receives a visit from father, mother, brother, or grandmother, during the prescribed hours, they must not dare to give them one glass, they not being servants or lodgers.

And lastly, any person causing the conviction of one score of offenders against the above Act, will receive, as a reward, a free admission to the Crystal Palace at the next meeting of the Temperance League.

So says the New Beer House Act.

H. Disley, Printer, 57, High Street, St. Giles, London.

GRAND CONVERSATION ON BRAVE NELSON.

As some heroes bold, I will unfold, together were conversing,
It was in the praise of Nelson, as you shall quickly hear;
Said one unto the other, if we could behold another,
In old England like Nelson, we proudly would him cheer.
From Norfolk it is known he came, he was a man of noted fame,
He struggled hard for liberty, as every Briton knows,
In battle he would loudly cry, I’ll gain the victory or die,
This grand conversation on brave Nelson arose.

Now at Copenhagen and the Nile, he gave command with a smile,
He said, “Stand firm, my British tars, the enemy to meet;
Prepare each gun--all terror shun, but never do surrender!
The champion of the briny waves was Nelson and his fleet;
When Capt. Hardy, you may see, who always done his duty free,
Brave Collingwood the enemy undaunted would oppose,
He caused some thousands to be slain while fighting on the raging main,
This grand conversation on brave Nelson arose.

Many a youth, I’ll tell the truth, in action have been wounded
Some left their friends and lovers in despair upon their native shore
Others never returned again, but died upon the raging main,
Causing many a one to cry “my son” and widows to deplore,
When war was raging, it is said, men for their labour were paid,
Commerce and trade flourishing, but now it ebbs and flows,
And poverty it does increase, though Britons say we live in peace,
This grand conversation on brave Nelson arose.

Some hardy tars they did survive, in Greenwich College now alive,
Will tell the deeds of Nelson and the battles that he won,
He never feared a cannon ball, till at Trafalgar he did fall,
No flinching from the enemy--no action he did shun;
He many powers did defeat, and never was that hero beat,
Neither would he surrender till he had thrashed his daring foes,
Altho’ he lost an eye and wing, he was loyal and true to his king,
This grand conversation on brave Nelson arose.

Trafalgar I will mention, if you will give attention,
It long has been recorded where brave Nelson fell and bled,
The officers around him, all human aid was found,
But were affected to the heart to find that he was dead.
The gallant tars were grieved sore to find Lord Nelson was no more,
All was in confusion in the ’midst of dying woes,
In rum they put him, it is said, and then to England him conveyed,
This grand conversation on brave Nelson arose.

Now in mem’ry of that hero’s loss, we understand at Charing Cross,
A monument of Nelson has been erected there;
An ancient building was pulled down, and an open space of ground
To commemorate the battle, it is call’d Trafalgar Square.
You British tars as do pass by, look up aloft and you will spy,
The visage of that hero respected as it shows,
Tho’ his remains are in decay, grim Death in action won the day,
This grand conversation on brave Nelson arose.

BATTLE _OF_ WATERLOO.

’Twas on the 18th day of June Napoleon did advance,
The choicest troops that he could raise within the bounds of France;
Their glittering eagles shone around and proudly looked the foe,
But Briton’s lion tore their wings on the plains of Waterloo.

With Wellington we’ll go, with Wellington we’ll go,
For Wellington commanded us on the Plains of Waterloo,
The fight did last from ten o’clock until the dawn of day,
While blood and limbs and cannon balls in thick profusion lay;
Their Cuirassieurs did quickly charge our squares to overthrow,
But Britons firm, undaunted stood, on the Plains of Waterloo.

The number of the French that at Waterloo were slain,
Was near sixty thousand all laid upon the plain;
Near forty thousand of them fell upon that fatal day,
Of our brave British heroes who their prowess did display.
It’s now the dreadful night comes on, how dismal is the plain,
When the Prussians and the English found above ten thousand slain,
Brave Wellington and Blucher bold most nobly drove their foes,
And Buonaparte’s Imperial crown was taken at Waterloo.

We followed up the rear till the middle of the night,
We gave them three cheers as they were on their flight,
Says Bony, d--m those Englishmen, they do bear such a name,
They beat me here at Waterloo, at Portugal and Spain.
Now peace be to their honoured souls who fell that glorious day,
May the plough ne’er raise their bones nor cut the sacred clay,
But let the place remain a waste, a terror to the foe,
And when trembling Frenchmen pass that way they’ll think of Waterloo.

London:--H. Such, Printer and Publisher, 117, Union Street, Borough.--S.E.

A NEW SONG ON THE TIMES.

Come old and young and rich and poor,
And listen to our song,
I’ll give to you some good advice,
And will not keep you long:
If you have one shilling to spend,
Go down to Mr Ward,
And there you’ll get three pounds of beef,
That’s just come from abroad.

CHORUS.

So there never was such doings in Old England before.

Now beef has come to fourpence a pound,
It’s a pity you should want,
Folks talk about America!
But don’t you Emigrate.
But stop at home in England,
If you’ve any work at all,
For provisions will be cheap,
If wages be but small.

The Butchers now they may give o’er,
Selling their stinking meat,
For there’s many a hundred weight been sold
That never was fit to eat;
And now when you do walk the street,
If you should happen to turn your eye,
It’s how-do-you-do? good morning, man,
As you are passing by.

There were hundreds in this country
O! ’tis true what I do tell,
That could not get a pound of meat,
Or hardly get a smell;
But since the Tariff Bill is pass’d,
Many hundreds will be fed,
With plenty of good pork and beef,
And likewise good cheap bread.

Now beef and mutton has come down,
And so is pork and flour too,
Which is what this country wanted,
A many years ago;
The cutlers now may go to work,
And grind away like bricks,
For now we’ll carve with knives and forks,
Instead of porridge sticks.

The farmers do not like those laws,
From what I’ve heard them say,
Because the corn will be so cheap,
And so will straw and hay,
If you buy a pennyworth of eggs,
You will get three or four,
And as for churning butter,
Why they say they’ll soon give o’er.

So to conclude and make an end,
And finish up my lines,
The poor will find in England
A difference in the times,
For work it will be plentiful.
And provisions will be low,
And that is what a poor man wants,
Wherever he does go.

THE AGONY BILL.

Dear me what a change has seen our nation,
Since we’ve reformed our legislation,
Each M.P. as now the fashion,
Brings a new bill every session.
Because one did in the way of peace act,
By getting past the New Police Act;
Another wants a grand reversion,
So brings you a Sabbath Bill Coercion!

At this you’ll laugh for its meant to gag you,
This is the bill of Saint Andrew Agnew.

This worthy, pious emasculator,
Who talks of setting your morals straighter,
Vows by the Gods your pleasures to be balking,
He’ll put a stop to your Sunday walking,
When persons are preaching, then will be search time
To collar them that’s walking in church time,
The tenants of houses and those of floors then,
Must not venture out ot doors then.

All those who brew their home brew’d beer then,
At times I’m sure will quake with fear then,
And dread to let it in the vat lay,
Lest it should happen to work on that day,
Then if you’re seized with cough or phtisic,
You must not even swallow physic!
For ’its decreed all rest that one day,
So not even salts must work on Sunday!

Dumb animals they’ll be strangely puzzled,
When Sunday comes each dog must be muzzled,
The cocks must on their roosts abide up,
And to stop their crowings their beaks must be tied up,
A noise with contempt will the act be treating,
The calves and the sheep must be kept from bleating,
The dairies must close from twelve to twelve, sir,
And as to the cows they must milk themselves, sir.

No duck must lay, no cat must kitten,
The hen must leave her nest through sitting,
Though painful is the separation,
She must quit the scene of incubation!
Married men will to quake be inclined then,
For fear their wives should be confined then,
For as no labour’s allowed on Sundays,
Of course she must put it off till the Mondays.

John Harkness, Printer, 121, Church Street, Preston.

A NEW SONG ON THE REPEAL OF THE CORN LAWS.

Come every heart rejoice with me,
We soon will have a glorious spree,
Cheap food once more we soon shall see,
Throughout the British Nation,
The ports they are thrown open wide,
And ships will mount the foaming tide,
And plenty to our shores will glide,
From every foreign Nation,
For Bob and Arthur met one day,
Those words I heard them for to say.
To us the people did long pray,
Delay it is a danger.

CHORUS.

So rejoice and sing the ports are free,
Such thumping loaves you soon will see.
With pies and dumplings, O what glee,
Throughout the British Nation.

The Cabinet they thought it right,
To put this famine to the flight,
And not to tempt a nation’s might,--
The belly gives no quarter,
They one and all gave their consent,
Their stubborn hearts they soon were bent,
And the bread tax chains they quickly rent,
That long oppress’d this nation,
The van was led by Bobby Blue,
And the boasting cock of Waterloo,
For a Revolution would not do,
They dread its desperation.

The bonded grain must soon come out,
It will give monopolists the gout,
And put them to the right about,
To meet this competition;
Their rusty bars and locks so strong,
Must open wide before it’s long;
With grief they’ll hear our merry song,
For long they’re liv’d in clover;
The granaries with corn and flour
Into our markets will pour,
And the bread tax loaf we’ll soon devour,
That caus’d such desolation.

So men and women and children too,
Rejoice, you’ll soon have work to do,
In spite of all the bread tax crew;--
Rejoice--they are defeated.
Your teeth must soon commence the mill,
And grind away with right good will,
Your bellies every one can fill
With puddings, pies, and dumplings,
So women all shout out huzza.
Hot cakes at will with good strong tea,
And that honest debts you soon will pay,
To your neglected belly.

The poor will soon have to turn about,
With corporations they’ll strut out,
With American flour cheap and stout,
Their bellies to adorn;
The bones that now are thin and small,
In loads of flesh they soon will fall,
And on a cab will have to call,
O what an alteration!
Away with the hungry cry that’s been,
Such mumping of bread was never seen!
Long life attend our gracious Queen--
A woman rules the nation.

A NEW SONG, OPENING THE PORTS.

(Composed by E. Wrigley for his Three Strings.)

Men, women, and children, come list to my story--
The ports are thrown open, your bellies may glory;
Provisions must drop now, to satisfy many,
Who long before this time could scarcely get any;
For bread’s been so dear it was hard to be gotten,
Potatoes so scarce, and one half of them rotten,
These hard times I fear will ne’er be forgotten;
But now wag your jaws, lad, the ports are thrown open.

CHORUS.

Chaw, chaw--banish this ruin, lads;
Your grinders in motion, it’s keep them a-going, lads;
Wag, wag, wag your jaws--let them be going, lads;
Provisions must fall, now the ports are thrown open.

In Ireland and Scotland the famine has raged so,
Hundreds and thousands--old, young, middle-aged, too;
Food’s been so scarce and so dear through the nation,
That many grim death clam’d died through starvation.
But let us all hope now these hard times are ended,
Provisions come down fast, and trade be mended,
That poor folk may live by their labour--God send it,
Forget what is past, now the ports are thrown open.

These millers and swailers, and other corn dealers,
Their granaries well stocked with corn and meal is;
In hopes of bread rising, from market they stop it--
These clam-gutted robbers--but now they must drop it.
The grain that in warehouses years has been bonded,
Must now be brought out--it’s our right to demand it;
From all foreign shores fresh supplies will be landed,
In spite of the tyrants, the ports are thrown open.

The rich, with their treasure, can roll at their leisure;
They know not, they feel not, for nothing but pleasure.
Full bellies don’t know what an empty one’s feeling,
Enough to set hundreds that’s honest a-stealing;
And farmers, now mind it, your corn quickly grind it,
And bring it to market, or you’ll be behind it;
And ’tatoes must drop, too--old chaps, you will find it,
The corn’s coming free, now the ports are open.

This dropping of food, instead of its rising,
To some of the bakers has come most surprising;
Such stocks they’ve laid in, thinking of making riches,
Through this fall of bread some will dirty their breeches!
The stores that’s hid up, now they out must be bringing,
Or else a dead weight on their hands will be ringing,
While sighing and crying we’ll merrily be singing--
Come, drop your bread, bakers, the ports are thrown open.

Set your pots on the fire which of late has been empty,
Pies, dumplings, and puddings, there soon will be plenty;
And ’tatoes must fall, too, for one thing remember,
All food’s to come free from the first of September;
And ships from all parts, now they are got in motion,
Their canvas well spread are a-ploughing the ocean,
To bring in cheap food from each foreign nation,
So, lasses and lads, shout, the ports are all open.

So now to conclude and finish my ditty,
This filling of bellies it sounds very pretty.
To thousands of jaws that look haggard and thin too,
So chuck away lads, your past time to regain now;
And butchers, your flesh meat may now be dropping,
Such rattling of grinders, and porridge pots wopping,
For some when they start there will be no stopping--
Shout huzza, lads and lasses, the ports are thrown open.

John Harkness, Printer, 121, Church Street, Preston.

A NEW SONG ON THE LIBERATION OF DANIEL O’CONNELL.

Harkness, Printer, 121, Church Street, Preston.

Rejoice you sons of Erin’s Isle throughout the British nation,
I hope you’ll listen unto me to this my true narration.
Each spy and knave that did enslave, thank God they are defeated,
For our loyal Patriots are free, and Daniel’s liberated.

CHORUS.

Cheer up my boys, our Parliament will soon be reinstated,
For our loyal Patriots are free, and Daniel’s liberated.

When the glorious news it did arrive throughout the Irish nation,
Both rich and poor, high and low, of every rank and station,
To Harold’s cross they did repair with hearts all elevated,
To see the star of Erin’s Isle, brave Daniel liberated.

These forty years brave noble Dan our rights he has defended;
In spite of vile Oppression, for Freedom he contended!
Our Parliament it’s his interest shortly to obtain, sir,
And gain for the land St. Patrick blest, with all his might and main,
sir.

Long life attend brave noble Dan, and all the brave Repealers,
They stood true to their country and their creed in spite of every
traitor;
Brave John O’Connell and Tom Steele we are bound for to remember,
With Barrat, Ray, Duffy and Gray, they never would surrender.

When they appeared before the court to defend their country’s cause, sir,
Our hero Dan, that matchless man, he did explain the laws, sir;
He says, my country’s rights I’ll defend while blood remains in my veins,
sir,
And we’ll ne’er desist, but still insist, till the Union I obtain, sir.

When the writ of error it was brought before the House of Lords, sir,
Lord Denman, Campbell and Cottingham did explain the laws, sir,
The Lord Chancellor and Brougham, their schemes were all defeated,
I’m sure the Tories will run mad since Dan is liberated.

So now my friends I will conclude these lines that I have penn’d, sir,
We’ll drink a health unto brave Dan, long may he live and reign, sir,
He’ll plant the Tree of Liberty once more in College Green, sir,
And while life remains brave noble Dan for ever he’ll wear the green,
sir.

A NEW SONG ON THE TIMES.

Good people all I pray draw near,
We have entered in another year,
The markets now they must come down,
Both in country and in town;
The farmers now begin to grin,
Their corn to market must bring in,
The ports are opened now you see,
In spite of all their roguery.

They’ve risen the barley, flour, and meal,
I think they must have hearts like steel,
And wages are so very low,
Fills poor men’s hearts with grief and woe;
The potatoes too, you all must know,
Have proved poor people’s overthrow,
If they had been good, I am very sure
They never would have rais’d the flour.

The rich have all things at command,
While poverty rages through the land,
And bread it is so very dear,
Draws from poor people many a tear;
The store houses are breaking down with grain,
No wonder that the poor complain,
In the midst of plenty you plainly see,
They are dying from want and poverty.

The Americans have provisions in store,
From the black sea they will send us more,
The millers and farmers will look blue,
They’ll not know which way for to do;
I hope that trade may flourish once more,
Upon this our native shore,
Then the working man will be right glad
To see his children well cloth’d and fed.

The maltsters and brewers they stamp and swear,
With sugar and treacle must brew their beer,
For all the malt that they do use,
Must all be made into barley loaves;
So drunkards all I tell to you true,
It’s old hock you must bid adieu!
No more of that will be I vow,
So you must drink all treacle now.

Now, to conclude and make an end,
I hope the times they soon will mend,
Send trade and commerce to our shore,
Then the working men will grieve no more,
In peace and unity, they will unite,
Then all the nation will be right,
I hope I have said nothing wrong,
So now I finish off my song.

A NEW SONG.

Come gentlemen listen awhile,
And hear how they carry the jest on,
I’m sure it will cause you to smile,
Such fun there is at the Election.
To Brentford the Voters repair,
Two Knights of the Shire to elect,
Old Nero each Slave doth ensnare,
Whilst the Free vote for Byng and Burdett.
Fal de ral lal de ral lal de ral.

The mob are all silent and hush’d,
To hear Orator Tub on the green,
Some with laughter are ready to burst,
And others with malice spleen,
He tells you a terrible tale,
Of a Damn’d Diabolical Crew,
Who Innocents starv’d in a Jail,
And the worst of it is--IT IS TRUE!
Fal lal de ral.

There’s the case of poor Mary Rich,
Indeed ’tis a horrible story,
Much about it he’s not time to preach,
But look round and you’ll see it before you.
Can you such a monster approve,
Whose voice on the Hustings doth falter?
His conduct your anger must move--
Give your Vote--give the Rascal a Halter.
Fal de ral.

At four the Poll closes and then
His heart with fear bounces and capers,
’Till his carriage he’s safely within,
Surrounded by all the Thief-takers.
There’s Myrmidons sturdy and bold,
For the Quorum they care not a button.
They’d bother em all I am told,
If led on by Commodore Dutton.
Fal lal de ral.

But Byng is a Man you’ve twice try’d,
From his duty he never did flinch,
He scorns Aristocracy’s pride,
And Despots will fight inch by inch.
Then Electors now give him a voice.
And however the Tyrants may fret,
Join him with the man of your choice,
Independent Sir Francis Burdett.
Fal de ral.

Sir Francis, the Friend of the Poor,
Ever staunch in Humanity’s cause,
Disdaining a minister’s lure,
Stands forth in support of our laws,
His Mind is untainted and pure,
Then him place at the head of the set,
In his hands Freedom’s Cause is secure,
For Liberty dwells in the soul of Burdett.
Fal de ral lal de ral lal de ral.

J. Catnach, Printer, Monmouth Court, 7 Dials.

FLEETWOOD, STRICKLAND, AND REFORM TRIUMPHANT.

For Fleetwood and Strickland hurrah!
Hurrah, for the Radicals true,
Now the polling is done, and the election is won
By the Banners of Green and Sky-blue;
The Tories may now go and mourn,
No longer they’ll carry the sway,
For the brave Preston lads, the Whigs and the Rads,
Have torn all their laurels away.

For the Preston Reformers hurrah,
A glorious struggle they’ve made,
To pull tyranny down, and victory crown
The friends of Reform and Free Trade;
No longer shall liberty’s sons,
Crouch down to the bigotted few;
Now the election is won Reform marches on,
In spite of what Tories can do.

So hurrah for the Black Fleet, hurrah!
For the spinners and weavers also,
Now the banners shall wave, and the music shall play,
And our members in triumph shall go;
The faction that dared to oppose,
Before the voice of the people does fly;
So the victors shall sing till the welkin does ring,
With voices that reach to the sky.

To the land that we live in hurrah!
Where the banner of freedom’s unfurl’d,
May it soon have to wave o’er the last tyrant’s grave,
And liberty reign o’er the world;
The children that yet are unborn,
Shall sing of the deeds we have done,
How their fathers so brave would no longer be slaves,
But fought till the battle was won.

PETERLOO.

See! see! where freedom’s noblest champion stands,
Shout! shout! illustrious patriot band,
Here grateful millions their generous tribute bring,
And shouts for freedom make the welkin ring,
While fell corruption and her hellish crew
The blood-stained trophies gained at Peterloo.

Soon shall fair freedom’s sons their right regain,
Soon shall all Europe join the hallowed strain,
Of Liberty and Freedom, Equal Rights and Laws,
Heaven’s choicest blessing crown this glorious cause,
While meanly tyrants, crawling minions too,
Tremble at their feats performed on Peterloo.

Britons, be firm, assert your rights, be bold,
Perish like heroes, not like slaves be sold,;
Firm and unite, bid millions be free,
Will to your children glorious liberty,
While cowards--despots long may keep in view,
And silent contemplate the deeds on Peterloo.

John Harkness, Printer, Preston.

THE STATE OF Great Britain, OR A TOUCH AT THE TIMES.

_TUNE--Irish Molly O._

As old John Bull was walking one morning free from pain,
He heard the Rose, the Shamrock, and the Thistle to complain,
An alteration must take place together they did sing,
In the Corn Laws and Poor Laws, and many another thing.

CHORUS.

Conversing on the present time together they did range,
All classes thro’ Great Britain now appear so very strange,
That England, Ireland, Scotland, and Wales must quickly have a change.

The railroads all through England have great depression made;
Machinery of every kind has put a stop to trade;
The innkeepers are weeping in agony and grief,
And the ostlers swear they’ll buy a rope and go to felo-de-se.

The steam boats to old Belzebub the watermen do wish,
For they say they’ve nearly ruined them and drowned all the fish,
Of all their new inventions that we have lately seen--
There was none begun or thought upon when Betty was the queen.

Behold the well-bred farmer, how he can strut along,
Let a poor man do whatever he will he’s always in the wrong,
With hard labour and low wages he hangs his drooping head,
They won’t allow him half enough to find his children bread.

The farmers’ daughters ride about well clad and pockets full,
With horse and saddle like a queen and boa like a bull,
In their hand a flashy parasol, and on their face a veil,
And a bustle nearly seven times as big as a milking pail.

The nobles from the pockets of John Bull are all well paid;
Sometimes you hardly know the lady from the servant maid,
For now they are so very proud, silk stockings on their legs,
And every step they take you think they walk on pigeon’s eggs.

The tradesman he can hardly pay his rent and keep his home,
And the labourer has eighteen pence a day for breaking stones,
In former days the farmer rode a donkey or a mule,
There never was such times before since Adam went to school.

Some can live in luxury while others weep in woe,
There’s very pretty difference now and a century ago,
The world will shortly move by steam it may appear strange,
So you must all acknowledge that England wants a change.

A NEW SONG OF THE ELECTION.

“THE CAP, THOSE WHOM IT FITS MAY WEAR IT.”

O the general Electiom is coming they say,
What an huhabolu and a bustle there’ll be,
With the new candidates to be Parliament men,
And the old ones who wished for to go back again.
There’ll be all sorts of shuffling and all kinds of rigs,
There’s some will call Tories and some will call Whigs,
There’s some will wear colours, blue, orange, and red,
And to prove which is best, they’ll break each other’s heads.

O the general Election is coming they say,
What canvassing, coaxing, and thumping there’ll be,
While some will shout ---- and ---- so clever,
And others bawl ---- and free trade for ever.

O the Whigs for ten years have cut a great swell,
But now by the Tories they’ve been wollop’d well,
And to pay off the bad boys with a good tit for tat,
They are sending them home to see how they like that.
This has caused amongst Tories and Whigs a great rout,
And many may go tell their mothers the’re out,
While some of the boobies will do a deal worse,
By loosing their election, and emptying their purse,

O the Elections are coming, what doings there’’ll be,
Such gutting and guzzling you never did see,
There’ll be cheap beef and ale for poor voters just then,
With Wine, Turtle, and Venison for gentlemen,
There will be open houses in every street,
Where the Birds of a feather may daily meet,
And sly Booots attends to collect all their senses;
Crying, landlord, fill up now, and damn all expenses.

Then to see the great nobs, who a canvassing go,
In the house, or the garret, or the cellar below,
Altho’ by infection he dreads his sweet life,
He’ll shake hands with the cobbler or kiss the sweep’s wife,
Or perhaps he will dandle the sweet little child,
Till he suddenly finds that his trowsers are spoiled,
Tho’ his heart it is ready to come up at his throat,
Yet he’d do ten times more to secure a vote.

And then at the last, when all other means fail,
To catch them they try to put salt on their tails,
Don’t think I mean bribery, my good sir, dear no!
They only give friends a small present or so.
Or perhaps if you have a nice Bird, Dog, or Cat.
To sell, they will give you five sovereigns for that,
He’s a very good customer, that is quite true,
So I’ll vote for ----, pray what less can I do?

O the Election is coming, what meeting and speeching,
All their knavish tricks to all the world teaching;
What rogues, fools, and shufflers, each other they call,
And stick their good characters up on the wall.
Each party seem ready the other to mill,
About rural policy, or the new poor-law bill.
While the Elections are on, what patriots they are,
But when they get in, the d----l may care.

_LAMENTATION ON THE DEATH_ OF THE Duke of Wellington.

Britannia now lament for our Hero that is dead,
That son of Mars, brave Wellington, alas, his spirit’s fled.
That general of a hundred fights, to death he had to yield,
Who brav’d the cannons’ frightful blaze upon the battle field.

CHORUS.

Britannia weep and mourn, his loss all may deplore,
That conquering hero Wellington, alas, he is no more.

The destructive wars of Europe does not disturb him now,
Great laurels of bright victory sit smiling on his brow,
For the burning sands of India he trac’d with valour bright,
And against that daring Tippoo Saib so valiant he did fight.

Where cannons loud did rattle, spread death and sad dismay,
The Duke was always ready with his men to lead the way.
Fortified cities he laid low, that general of renown,
Intrenchments and their batteries he quickly levelled down.

Thro’ Portugal and Spain his enemy did pursue,
With the veteran sons of Britain he march’d to Waterloo,
And there he made a noble stand upon that blood-stain’d day,
And fought the French so manfully and made them run away.

At Vittoria,--Badagoz, and Talevara too,
On the plains of Salamanca, the French he did subdue,
With the veteran sons of Britain wherever he did go,
Amidst thundering peals of cannon he conquer’d every foe.

On the plains of Waterloo where thousands they lay dead,
The iron balls in showers flew around his martial head,
While his valiant men and generals lay bleeding in their gore,
The laurels from the French that day brave Wellington he tore.

Napoleon was as brave a man as ever took the field,
And with the warlike sons of France he said he would not yield;
But the reverse of fortune that day did on him frown,
By Wellington and his army his eagles were pulled down.

Now let him rest in peace, and none upbraid his name,
On his military glory there never was a stain,
The steel-clad Cuirasiers of France that day at Waterloo,
He quickly made them face about and cut their armour through.

Brave Ponsonby and Picton they fell upon that day,
And many a valiant soldier brave in peace their ashes lay,
And that brave Duke that led them on his spirit’s took its flight,
To see him laid down in his tomb will be a solemn sight.

DEATH OF WELLINGTON.

J. Harkness, Printer, 121, Church Street, Preston.

On the 14th of September, near to the town of Deal,
As you may well remember who have a heart to feel,
Died Wellington, a general bold, of glorious renown,
Who beat the great Napoleon near unto Brussels town.

CHORUS.

So don’t forget brave Wellington, who won at Waterloo,
He beat the great Napoleon and all his generals too.

He led the British army on through Portugal and Spain,
And every battle there he won the Frenchmen to restrain,
He ever was victorious in every battle field,
He gained a fame most glorious because he’d never yield.

He drove Napoleon from home, in exile for to dwell,
Far o’er the sea, and from his home, and all he loved so well.
He stripped him quite of all his power, and banished him away,
To St. Helena’s rocks and towers the rest of his life to stay.

Then on the throne of France he placed Louis the king by right,
In after years he was displaced all by the people’s might,
But should the young Napoleon threaten our land and laws,
We’ll find another Wellington should ever we have cause.

He’s dead, our hero’s gone to rest, and o’er his corpse we’ll mourn,
With sadness and with grief oppress’d, for he will not return,
But we his deeds will not forget, and should we ere again,
Follow the example that he set, his glory we’ll not stain.

So don’t forget brave Wellington, who won at Waterloo,
He beat the great Napoleon and all his generals too.

THE FALL OF SEBASTOPOL.

There is nothing now talked on wherever you go,
Among old folks or young be them high or low,
But the Crimean heroes I vow and declare,
That has smothered the Russians in this very year,
On the 8th of September, Eighteen hundred & fifty-five
The wounded old bear from his den did arise;
He curs’d and he swore and he fell off his stool,
He lost all Malakoff and Sebastopol too.

CHORUS.

Then hurrah jolly soldiers and sailors likewise,
With the brave sons of France you blackened his eyes,
You knock’d off his muzzle and stole all his grub,
And his teeth is all rotten and he can’t chew his cud.

The soldiers of France went at it like steel,
Determined to conquer and make the Russians feel,
That they were the lads that could do it like fun,
Then crack went their rifles and the Russians did run;
The hearts of oak thundered, their guns had began,
As hearts of oak only ball’d at the Redan;
The French blaz’d away with courage so cool,
Now England and France has Sebastopol.

The Russian bears did grumble and said it is no joke
To smother in rubbish with powder and smoke,
And to be without water our thirst for to quench,
When a thundering big bomb shell came in from the French,
They all turned dizzy some spued and some spit,
And the Russian commander in his breeches did s--t,
For he had got the skitters with Johnny Bull’s pills,
Our shot is the doctors that find out their ills.

At last they retreated, these bears from their den,
They got nearly roasted with shot and with shell,
Dingdong they did trot unto to the North side,
If they’d stopt any longer we’d have tickled their hides,
The Russian commander these words he did say,
We must now all hook it without more delay,
We can stop no longer in Sebastopol;
If we do they will choke us with long iron tools.

So come my brave fellows let’s sing and let’s dance,
Both Turkey, Sardinnia, old England and France;
We will all have a jig while the music does play,
We have nothing to fear for the Russians will pay;
And when we come home we will all keep a pig,
Our wives shall have bustles made of Russian wigs,
We will all take a bumper and drink good health,
So down with the Russians and up with the French.

BATTLE _OF_ ALMA

Oh! boys have you heard of the battle,
The allies brave had on the shore,
The joybells and cannons did rattle,
Announcing it o’er and o’er,
The total defeat of the Russians,
Was echoed with joy everywhere;
Success to John Bull and Napolean,
And very soon peace may we hear.

CHORUS.

Then here’s to the army and navy,
In Russia they’re on the advance,
Supporting the standard of freedom,
Success to old England and France.

It was on the heights of Alma,
The Russians were laying entrench’d
Lord Raglan and Marshal St. Arnaud,
Commanding the English and French;
In front of the fortified walls,
The allies marched into the fight,
Fifty-eight thousand men in bright armour,
Put all the wild Russians to flight,
Then here’s, &c.

On the twentieth of September,
The desperate battle was fought,
The Russians will ever remember,
Tho’ dearly my boys it was bought
With the blood of our courageous allies,
Who fell on the fortified plain,
They brought the flag of old England,
Without either blemish or stain.
Then here’s, &c.

The Russians held up their position,
And fought for the space of three hours,
Secluded behind their entrenchments,
The balls flew around us in showers;
At last at the point of the bayonet,
The Russians were forced to retreat,
And run in the greatest disorder,
Compell’d by a total defeat.
Then here’s &c.

The number that lay dead and wounded,
Is awful my friends to recite,
Let’s mourn the loss of our allies,
Who fell in the desperate fight;
They fought them with great desperation,
And forced the wild Russians to yield,
While cannons did rattle in battle,
They conquered and died on the field,
Then here’s, &c.

THE NIGHTINGALE IN THE EAST.

On a dark lonely night, on the Crimea’s dread shore--
There had been bloodshed and strife on the morning before--
The dead and the dying lay bleeding around,
Some crying for help--there was none to be found.

Now God in his mercy He pity’d their cries,
And the soldier so cheerfully in the morning doth rise,
So forward my lads, may your hearts never fail,
You are cheered by the presence of a sweet Nightingale.

Now God sent this angel to succour the brave,
Some thousands she’s saved from an untimely grave;
Her eyes beam with pleasure, she’s bounteous and good,
The wants of the wounded are by her understood.

With fever some brought in, with life almost gone,
Some with dismantled limbs, some to fragments are torn,
But they keep up their spirits, their hearts never fail,
Now they’re cheered by the presence of a sweet Nightingale.

Her heart it means good--for no bounty she’ll take,
She’d lay down her life for the poor soldier’s sake,
She prays for the dying, she gives peace to the brave,
She feels that a soldier has a soul she may save.

The wounded they love her, as it has been seen;
She’s the soldier’s preserver, they call her their queen!
May God give her strength, and her heart never fail,
One of heaven’s best gifts is Miss Nightingale.

The wives of the wounded, how thankful are they;
Their husbands are cared for, how happy are they;
Whate’er her country, this gift God has given,
The soldiers they say she’s an angel from heaven.

Sing praise to this woman, and deny it who can!
And all women were sent for the comfort of man;
Let’s hope no more against them you’ll rail,
Treat them well, and they’ll prove like Miss Nightingale.

BATTLE OF INKERMAN;

OR “There came a Tale to England.”