Chapter I: AM a youthful lady, my troubles they are great, (2)

I dreamed that I was weaving on a pair of patent looms,
And I thought that you were going through the streets a-selling brooms,
And I thought our blooming Prince of Wales was selling milk and cream,
But, Albert dear, when I awoke, it was nothing but a dream.

Indeed, said Albert, dream no more, you fill my heart with pain,
And I hope that you will never have such frightful dreams again,
We’ve English and Irish soldiers, we can conquer all our foes,
So, whenever you dream again Vic, pray don’t you pull my nose.

_LOVELY ALBERT._[56]

THE Turkish War, both near and far,
Has played the very deuce then,
And little AL, the royal pal,
They say, he has turned a Russian;
Old Aberdeen, as may be seen,
Looks woeful pale and yellow,
And Old John Bull has his belly full
Of dirty Russian Tallow.

_Chorus._

We’ll send him home and make him groan,
Oh, AL, you’ve played the deuce then,
The German lad has acted sad,
And turned tail with the Russian.

When AL came here, you’re all aware,
He brought with him no riches,
He had scarce a rag upon his back,
And great holes in his breeches;
Oh, England on him pity took,
And chang’d his sad condition,
And soon he plann’d, you understand,
The National Exhibition.

The Cobourgs came from far and near,
With their Dispatches, all dirt,
A begging for the Russian Bear,
To blooming lovely Albert,
To keep old Nick, the devil’s limb,
And on to Turkey lead him,
To massacre the innocent Turks,
And rob them of their freedom.

Last Monday night, all in a fright,
Al, out of bed did tumble,
The German lad was raving mad,
How he did groan and grumble!
He cried to Vic, I’ll cut my stick,
To Petersburgh, go right slap,
When Vic, ’tis said, jumped out of bed,
And whopp’d him with her night cap.

There, with the bolster round the room,
Vic gave him dreadful lashes,
She scratched his face and broke his nose,
And pull’d out his moustaches.
You German dog, you shall be flogg’d,
She halloed like a Prussian,
How could you dare to interfere
And turn a cursed Russian?

Bad luck they say, both night and day,
To the Cobugs and all humbugs,
The Wirtembugs and Scarem bugs,
And all the German house bugs.
And the old bug of Aberdeen,
The Peterbugs and Prussians,
May Providence protect the Turks,
And massacre the Russians.

You jolly Turks, now go to work,
And show the Bear your power--
It’s rumoured over Britain’s isle,
That A---- is in the Tower,
The Postmen some suspicion had,
And openéd two letters,
’Twas pity sad, the German lad,
Should not have known much better.

Well, now, my friends, to made an end,
From tyrants guard your own coast,
I’ll tell you what ’tween you and I,
The Tower-ditch and the gate post:
I think that AL has been used well,
Since first he came to England,
And had no cause to obstruct the laws,
Or in politics be mingling.

Let France and England set to work,
Shun Austrians and Prussians,
Assist the poor and injured Turks,
And smother all the Russians.
Chain up the Bear, and make him stare,
And so I take my Davy,
We’ll sing Old England, three times three,
The Army and the Navy.

_Chorus._

I tell thee AL, we never shall,
Although you play’d the deuce then,
Allow the Turks to be run down,
By the dirty, greasy Russian.

_BRAVE NELSON._

THE twenty-first day of October,
It being a glorious day,
The combin’d fleets of Spain and France,
They met at Buzeray.
Their number it being thirty three,
Bertram chanced them to see.
There is twenty seven of them for me,
Said brave Nelson.

We form’d a line of battle,
Our cannons loud did roar,
Some we sent into the air,
And others down below.
But Nelson on the deck so high,
Aloud unto his men did cry,
This day we conquer or we die,
Said brave Nelson.

On the twenty first of October,
At the rising of the sun,
We form’d the line for action,
At twelve o’clock begun.
We manned our rigging and shot away,
Besides some thousands on that day,
Were killed and wounded in the ’fray,
With brave Nelson.

Our ship was numbered twenty seven,
Her cannon loud did roar,
We ships, in number twenty seven,
Took from the Spanish shore.
But when we’d victory on our side,
A musket ball his life destroyed,
And in the midst of glory died,
Our brave Nelson.

To view this hero dying,
With his last parting breath,
He prayed for England’s glory,
At the moment of his death.
Farewell my lads, my glass is run,
This day will be my setting sun,
And providence it must be done,
Said brave Nelson.

Fare you well brave Nelson,
Old England shed a tear,
The bravest of her heroes,
Has lost his life so dear.
Did he not merit much applause,
He fought for liberty and laws,
He bled and died for England’s cause
The brave Nelson.

_LORD NELSON._

COME all gallant seamen that unite a meeting,
Attend to these lines that I’m going to relate,
And, when that you hear, it will move you with pity,
To hear how Lord Nelson, he met with his fate.
For he was a bold and undaunted commander,
As ever did sail on the ocean wide,
And he made both the French and the Spaniards surrender,
By always pouring into them a broadside.

_Chorus._

Mourn, England, mourn; mourn and complain,
For the loss of Lord Nelson, who died on the main.

From aloft, to aloft, where he was commanding,
All by a French gun he received a ball,
And, by the contents, he got mortally wounded,
And that was the occasion of Lord Nelson’s fall.
Like an undaunted hero, exposed to the fire,
As he gave the command, on the quarter deck stood,
And to hear of his actions, you would much admire,
To see the decks covered all with human blood.

One hundred engagements he had been into,
And never, in his time, was he known to be beat,
For he had lost an arm, likewise his right eye, sir,
No powers on earth could ever him defeat.
His age, at his death, it was forty and seven,
And as long as I live, his great praises, I’ll sing,
For the whole navigation was given unto him,
Because he was loyal and true to his king.

Then up steps the doctor in a very great hurry,
And unto Lord Nelson these words he did say,
Indeed, then, my lord, I am very sorry,
To see you lying and bleeding this way,
No matter, no matter whatever about me,
My time it has come, I’m almost at the worst,
And there’s my gallant seamen who’re fighting so boldly,
Go and discharge your duty to them first.

Then, with a loud voice he called out to his captain,
Pray let me know how this battle does go,
I think that our guns continue to rattle,
Though death approaches, I very well know.
The antagonists ship has gone to the bottom,
Eighteen we’ve captured, and brought them on board,
And there are two of them quite blown out of the ocean,
So that is the news I have brought you, my Lord.

Come all gallant seamen that unite a meeting,
Always let Lord Nelson’s memory go round;
For it is your duty, when you unite a meeting,
Because he was loyal and true to the Crown;
So now to conclude, and to finish these verses,
My time it is come, I am quite at the worst,
May the heavens go with you, and ten thousand blessings,
May rest in the Fleet with you, Lord Collingwood.

_BATTLE OF WATERLOO._

TWAS on the 18 day of June[57] 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 Britain’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.

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, (_sic_)
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----n 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.

THE visit of George IV. to Scotland was purely one of pleasure.
There being no railways, and posting being fatiguing, he went by
sea, embarking at Greenwich on August 10, 1822, and arriving at
Leith on the 14th, not landing, however, till the next day. His
visit was not remarkable for anything except the multiplicity of
his costumes. He embarked dressed as a private individual; he
landed as an Admiral; he dined in full Highland costume (when Sir
Walter Scott acted as principal Steward); and at another dinner
posed as a Field Marshal. He did very little during his stay,
leaving Scotland on August 29, arriving at Greenwich on September
1.

A NEW SONG CALLED

_KING GEORGE IV.’S WELCOME TO SCOTLAND_.

LANG time we’ve waited for our king,
That he might caper, rant and fling,
And lightly dance and gladly sing,
You’re welcome, Royal Geordie.

_Chorus._

But oh! you’re lang a-coming,
Lang, lang, lang a-coming,
O dinna be so lang a-coming,
Come awa, King Geordie.

Than Glasgow town there is not one,
In a’ your great and glorious lan’,
Who’d turn out a truer ban’,
To guard their Royal Geordie.

And, by the powers aboon, we swear
If any traitor come you near,
The fause loon we’ll in pieces tear,
A’ for our love to Geordie.

For weel we ken your title’s gude,
And shall maintain it with our blude,
If any foreign foemen should
Dispute the right of Geordie.

Then haste ye, Geordie, come awa--
We’ll dress our wives and weans fu’ braw,
They’ll rend the lift wi’ loud huzza
To welcome their ain Geordie.

In Edinbro’ too, time will pass sweet,
Frae far and near they’ll Geordie greet,
And you shall get braw lodgings meet,
To house ye, Royal Geordie.

Your Court you’ll haud in Holyrood,
Where aft your ancestors have stood,
All anxious for the public good,
As now is Royal Geordie.

The Castle’s ancient wa’ you’ll view,
The old Scotch Crown and Sceptre too,
To wear them nane has right but you,
So come awa, King Geordie.

And at Dalkeith with Duke Buccleugh,
Your people a’ will round ye bow,
Wi’ hearty love and fealty true
To you their ain kind Geordie.

In Perthshire ye’ll get Athole Brose,
And Muir fowl frae the great Montrose,
Wi’ us, my lad, ye’ll be jocose,
So haste ye here, King Geordie.

And, by my troth, there’s not a belle,
Even ’mangst the rare ones of Pall Mall,
To match the ladies of Dunkeld,
Then hie ye north, King Geordie.

And we shall dance a Highland Reel,
’Twill please you weel my Royal Chiel,
On Scotia’s heath to shake your heel,
Wi’ some braw lass, King Geordie.

Then haste, my cock, and come awa,’
We’ll welcome you with loud huzza!
And auld and young shall crouseley craw,
“Long live our ain King Geordie.”

_THE DEATH OF THE RIGHT HONOURABLE SIR ROBERT PEEL, BART., M.P._

BORN FEBRUARY, 1788; DIED JULY 2, 1850, AGED 62.

BRITANNIA! Britannia! what makes thee complain,
O, why so in sorrow relenting,
Old England is lost, we are borne down in pain,
And the nation in grief is lamenting.
That excellent man--the pride of the land,
Whom every virtue possessed him,
Is gone to that Home, from whence none return,
Our dear friend, Sir Robert, God bless him.

The Rich and the Poor all did him adore,
Admired, beloved, and respected,
For his Country’s right, he struggled with might,
And nothing by him was neglected.
He nobly guided the Helm of State,
The poor long have praised and blessed him,
Now tears wet each eye, while in sorrow they sigh,
He is gone, is Sir Robert, God rest him.

Sad, sad was the day, when misfortune that way,
From health, strength and vigour had tossed him,
Upon the hard ground, to receive his death wound.[58]
Oh mourn! mourn! Britannia, we’ve missed him.
His equal again sure we never shall find,
For every goodness possessed him,
Britannia shall weep by the tomb where he sleeps,
The patriot, Sir Robert, God rest him.

Our Queen sighed in tears, when the tidings she heard,
And her children, with hearts full of sorrow,
Saying England is done, oh! where shall we run
To meet with his equal to-morrow?
He’s not to be found upon England’s ground,
Already, already, we’ve missed him,
Britannia deplore, we’ll behold him no more,
The Glory of England, God rest him.

Talk of Canning and Pitt, for their talents and wit,
And all who upheld that high Station,
Oh! has there been e’er, such a noble Premier,
As Sir Robert before, in the Nation?
He’d by no one be led, he’d by no one be said,
No Government feared to trust him,
In every way, he carried the sway,
For the good of his country: God rest him.

At Sixty-two years of Age, cruel death did engage,
Britannia to move from her station,
From her councils and land, called that excellent man,
Sir Robert the pride of the nation.
Oh! the tears that were shed by Sir Robert’s death bed,
Some hours before life had left him,
Caused hearts to complain, in grief sorrow and pain,
He is gone, is Sir Robert, God rest him.

In the tomb where he sleeps, many thousands will weep,
And his virtuous deeds lay before ye,
And he will receive, in the regions of bliss,
A coronet braided with glory.
Though we part from him with pain, it’s no use to complain,
He is for ever gone, and we’ve missed him,
In peace may he sleep, while Britannia does weep,
For her servant, Sir Robert, God bless him.

_DEATH OF WELLINGTON._[59]

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 Frenchman 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 lov’d so well,
He stripped him quite of all his power, and banish’d 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, e’er again,
Follow th’ example that he set, his glory we’ll not stain.

THE following, although not a ballad, was popularly sold in the
streets, and will serve as a good introduction to the question of
Reform. I have omitted passages which were irrelevant to the
matter. I find Reform _Street_ Ballads very scarce.

_THE CHRONICLES OF THE POPE._

1 NOW it came to pass that the land had rest for seventeen years.

2 For the Britons had subdued their enemies, even the French, and restored peace to all the Continent.

3 Nevertheless the people groaned by reason of oppression, and of the multitude of taxes which was laid upon them to support the rich and the great with pensions and rewards.

4 And they cried and petitioned for redress, but their prayers were not heard.

5 And George the Fourth was gathered to his fathers, and William reigned in his stead.

6 Now there was at this time a mighty man of renown called Arthur.

7 And he gained the confidence of the King, and abused his ear with falsities respecting the people.

8 And the people were much displeased with the power of this man of war, for he ruled them as he had done his soldiers.

9 And their eyes were turned towards a certain nobleman whose possessions lieth north of the Tyne.

10 Arthur feeling that he could rule no longer, resigned his authority, and the King elected that nobleman, even Grey, whose possessions lieth north of the Tyne, to be ruler under him over the people.

11 And he stood before the King, and said, O King, live for ever, thy people have been long afflicted with heavy burdens which they cannot bear, and their cries and lamentations ascend to heaven.

12 And the King was troubled in his mind at these sayings, and he caused the records of the realm to be brought before him, and then he found that his subjects were not fairly represented; and he was in much agitation of mind, and trembled exceedingly and cried with a loud voice, What shall I do?

13 And the noble, even Grey, said unto him, We must endeavour to amend these things; and, oh King, if thou wilt give me permission, such a law shall be framed that all the land will rejoice.

14 And the King said, Do as it pleaseth thee best in this matter.

15 Then Grey called all the representatives of the people together, and shewed them the new law which he had framed for the people’s benefit.

16 But several of those who were interested with regard to money, lifted up their voices against it.

17 Nevertheless the thing did prevail, in that house, the Assembly of the People, called the House of Commons.

18 But when this same law was brought before the Lords, they laughed it to scorn, saying amongst themselves, Shall we be deprived of all the good things we have enjoyed so long? Shall we divide the spoil amongst those we despise? And, as it were, with the voice of one man, they said, No!

19 Now the High Priests of the nation consulted amongst themselves, and said, Alas! what will become of us if this law passeth? We must then bid farewell to all that we have held so dear.

20 And the lamentation amongst the High Priests was very great, for every one of them lamented as if he had lost his first born.

21 And they came unto the Council of the Nation, even the House of Lords, and said, We will not have this law to pass.

22 For, although we are paid, and well paid, to teach the people, yet in our wisdom it seemeth good unto us to keep them ignorant.

23 For, be it known unto you, that, unless they are kept ignorant, and deprived of power, no man can govern them.

24 And the Lords listened unto these speeches, and would not allow the good law to pass.

25 Then stood the great and good noble, even Grey, before the King, and said, thou knowest thy nobles and the high priests of the land will not allow this law to pass.

26 Therefore I lay my commission at thy feet.

27 And the king answered and said, do as it seemeth best to thee.

28 And Grey bowed himself to the earth, and departed from the presence of the King.

29 And the King was troubled in spirit, and he sent in haste for Arthur, even the mighty man of renown.

30 And Arthur arose, and girded up his loins, and stood before the King.

31 And the King said unto him, Arthur, I know thee to be a man in whom is the spirit of wisdom and of valour, I am sorely troubled in mind respecting this affair. What shall I do?

32 Arthur answered and said, be not troubled, neither let thy spirit be cast down, for I can rule these people easily, and with a rod of iron must they be ruled: grant unto me the commission, and I will make them obedient.

33 And the King said, do as seemeth good in thine own eyes.

34 But when the people heard these things they were sorely grieved; and became exceedingly enraged.

35 And said, shall this man of war, who is an enemy to liberty, reign over us?

36 And the people from the land’s end, even unto Johnny Groat’s house, rose up, as it were with one consent; and in every village, and every city, and in every town, did they rise up and meet together in the open air to shew their hatred of Arthur, and of his oppression, and their determination to be free.

37 And the multitudes were exceeding great, that no man might number them, and they bore banners, having on them painted various devices.

38 And the cry of the people was great, and the noise of their shouting was like the sound of many waters.

39 And they cried, if Arthur is to rule us, to thy tents, O, Britons!

40 Now, the great, and the just men, and the good amongst the people, stood up, and spake with a loud voice, saying,

41 Be it known unto you, O, Britons, that Arthur can do nothing without money, therefore refuse you to pay taxes till you are made free.

42 And the people shouted, and cried, We will give no money till we are free; and having sung a war-like song, every man went to his own house.

43 Now, when the king heard of these things he was sore afraid, and he told Arthur to depart from his presence, and he called Grey before him.

44 And he said, thy wisdom is great, get this bill passed, else we be all dead men.

45 And the thing was done in haste, for great fear and trembling had fallen upon them.

46 And the Nobles and the high priests agreed unto the bill, for they were sore afraid, and quaked much.

_THE HAPPY REFORM._

LET us sing this aloud to the joy shouting crowd,
That once were going to arm;
Let all parties rejoice, and sing with one voice,
And join in the Happy Reform.

My name is John Bull, and with joy I am full,
I have something to say that will charm;
Come, Sandy, along, and with Pat join my song,
Let us sing of the Happy Reform.

Brother Pat, you and Sandy, I know are quite handy
To assist your John Bull in a storm:
Brothers Sandy and Paddy, you’ll now be as ready
To join me and sing the Reform.

But a few years ago, we durst not sing so,
Such a song, then, was counted a harm;
But now we may sing, O, long live our King,
Who has joined in the Happy Reform.

But this I must shew, for some do not know,
It is proper I should them inform,
So I will explain to them in my strain,
What’s meant by the present Reform.

O, it is to ease, and the people to please,
And to keep them from raising a storm:
’Tis that all Ten pound Renters may choose Parliamenters,
To give us the happy Reform.

This sure they will do, as their hearts will be true,
When bribery can do us no harm;
They will shew with true spirit what the Corn Bill does merit,
And turn it to Happy Reform.

Rotten Boroughs all now ’a tottering must fall,
And the Corn Bill, the great eating worm;
And the bull must be fell’d, and the despots expell’d,
To give way to the Happy Reform.

Oppressions hard grip will soon get the slip,
Which a long time has done us much harm:
O, then we will rise from the taxes and tithes,
To enjoy all the Happy Reform.

This to all will soon give, a good way to live,
And the farmer will have a cheap farm;
Then the rents will come down in the country and town,
By the brave and the Happy Reform.

This will happiness bring to the subject and king,
And save all from dreadful alarm--
Which once gave a peep--but now is asleep
In the bosom of Happy Reform.

Our king in the fray, the Sceptre did sway,
And our foes did completely disarm;
Wellington and great Peel to the left he did wheel,
For joining us not in Happy Reform.

Grey, Russell, and Brougham, our thanks we give to them,
For fighting for us in the storm;
Round them and our king, we will dance in a ring,
And sing--Success to the Happy Reform.

Reformation of Laws we will hail with applause,
With a hearty grand welcome so warm;
And with Heaven to save King William the Brave,
For joining us all in Reform.

We now need not fear, while the helm he does steer,
With a heart for our welfare so warm;
For his colours now fast he has nail’d to the mast,
And is bound for the Happy Reform.

_THE OPERATIVES’ MARCH._

MARCH! march! Comrades in Freedom now,
On let us march to the music of Order!
Arms we have none--for no one can need ’em now--
Peace is the word from John Groat’s to the Border.

Long have we wearied, and waited to see it,
Now it is come--with its blessing and pride;
In the hearts of our Sons unforgotten shall be it,
The King and the Country are both on our side.
Our banners are glancing--our section advancing,
The pipe and the trumpet are pealing above,
Shout with the voice of men--yet once again! again!
The Cause--and the King that a People can love.
March! March! etc.

A cheer for the Queen too, and one--be it seen to--
For Sussex, who ne’er was to Freedom untrue;
Shout away--shout away! ’tis for Russell and Grey,
And Lord Harry--and all of our Admiral’s crew!
We vow to stand by them--their foes we defy them--
For, honestly--firmly--they’ve weathered the storm;
And these were their watch words, as they’ll be our catch words,
The cause of the People, the King, and Reform!
March! March! etc.

AT Manchester, on September 18, 1838, an Association called the
“Anti-Corn-Law League” was formed, having for its object the
abolition of the duties on the importation of corn, avowedly to
cheapen the food of the people. The principal agitators were
Richard Cobden, John Bright, Charles Villiers, etc., and by holding
meetings all over the country, lecturing, and distributing
handbills and ballads, the Corn Importation Bill was eventually
passed, June 26, 1846, when, there being no further occasion for
its existence, the League was dissolved. Cobden was richly rewarded
for his efforts, as a national subscription was raised for him,
which realized nearly £80,000.

_A NEW ALPHABETICAL SONG ON THE CORN LAW BILL._

GOOD people draw near as you pass along,
And listen awhile to my alphabetical song.
A. is Prince Albert once buxsom and keen,
Who from Jermany came and got spliced to the Queen.

_Chorus._

For their all a spinning their cause in triumph springing,
And the poor man he is a singing since the Corn bill is repailed.

B. Stands for Smith O Brien, he an Irishman so true,
He hammered at Coersion till he beat them black and blue.
When he got out of prison that bill he did oppose,
With the fright he gave old welington, he fell and broke his nose.

C. is brave cobden one night it is said,
Threw a quarter Loaf at old Buckinghams hed,
Concerning the Corn laws he laid it down strong,
And he spun out yarn seventeen hour long.

D. for the duncomb who helpt the plan,
To give full and plenty to each true the land.
E. Stands for Evans who would Starve us again,
Because he beat 40 thousand old woman in Spain.

F. Stands for ferrand a protectiones Tool,
He spoke seven hours and raved like a fool;
G. Stands for graham who early and late,
Breaking seals at the post office a repealer for to take.

H. is old hume he is clever do you see,
He subtracted 2 from 1 and got the corn duty free;
I. is bob Inglis against free trade Blue and blast,
He was seven hours in the stericks when the corn bill did pass.

J. Stands for jerry who spoke till he was hoarse,
In the middle of the fight his fair daughter he lost;
She followed a soldier, and off she went slap,
With gun and a nap-sack slung over her back.

K. is for Kelly, he kept up the jaw,
Till he got the corn Free and brought into law;
L. Stands for lindhurst with his Brushes, Paints and Pots,
Guess how he was born or how that he was got.

M. Is Lord Morpeth who nobly fought,
Each night in succession for the corn law;
N. is old nosey who opposes him its true,
For to loose 15 thousands he is quite in the blues.

O. Is O Connell to them told the Law,
And is still bideing time for old Erin Gobraugh.
P. Stands for Peel who is acting upright,
And between you and me he has got a long sight.

Q. Is the question of Coersion they say,
So their stuck in the trap bob cut away.
R. Is Lord Russell whoes making all haste,
To run down to Windsor to fill Boby’s place.

To ride in Peel’s saddle he’l find it a job,
For he shakes on his legs like a staggering bob.
S. is Lord Stanley, who shaking with fear,
For his tenants payed him their rent with a bullet this year.

And swore if they catch him he’ll never elope,
Till they well oil his body with flails of good oak.
T. Is the teasel that comb them all down,
U. is for uxbridge who wonders have done.

V. Stands for Villiers whom the farmers detest,
For to Slaughter the corn law he did do his best;
For free trade he struggled by day and by night,
He is next in command to cobden and bright.

W. Stands for wakley a docter so bold,
Who swore on the corn bill an Inquest he’d hold;
When the Jury he charged he let them all see,
A verdict was returned for the corn to be free.

X. Is a letter which puts me in mind
Of a ship load of land lords that sail’d against wind;
Now over the ocean they must all away
To spend their last days in botane bay.

Y. Stands for york the archbishop so big,
Who loves for to dine on a little tithe pig:
Free trade on last Sunday (_did_) so him perplex,
That he sang rule britania and thought it the text.

Z. Is for Zetland an old English pere,
Who swore he (_’d_) have bread and potaties so dear.
The corn bill is past the landlords are very bad,
They must be muzeled in the dog day for fear they
might go mad.

_A NEW SONG ON THE CORN BILL._

HURRAH, my boys, a bumper fill,
And drink success, with heart and will,
To those that pass’d the Corn Bill,
Long may they be victorious.
Cheap food from every foreign shore,
In shiploads will sail in galore,
The landlords now are wounded sore;
They’ll have to sell both sow and boar,
To keep their great big paunches up
They’ll scarcely have a bite or sup;
Too long, my boys, they’ve sucked the honey cup,
But soon they’ll lose the swarm.
Hurrah, etc.

The landlords cry, Oh, Bobby P----l,
You have a heart as hard as any steel,
Sure, for the landlords you should feel,
And not be so hard hearted.
Oh dear, oh dear, the landlords cry,
The time is fast approaching nigh,
When neither barley, oats, nor rye,
The merchants will not from us buy,
For they can get both flour and grain
From France, America and Spain,
Enough to rack us on the brain,
And set John Bull distracted.
Hurrah, etc.

The bread will shortly get a fall,
The bakers will go to the wall,
No ’taters they must use at all,
But sell the best and cheapest.
Too long it has been on the rise,
But now they’re struck with much surprise
They’ll have to look with both their eyes,
And with the poor man compromise.
Good bread will be a penny a pound,
And beef and mutton safe and sound,
Well earned, too, that I’ll be bound,
Will daily be imported.
Hurrah, etc.

The monopolists have cause to weep,
They cannot lull themselves to sleep,
Their rams, and wethers, yews, and sheep,
They may send off to market.
Too long they have fattened on the spoil,
They’d fain to work your bones to oil,
Their greasy pots did often boil
Upon the poor man’s sweat and toil.
The time is now approaching fast,
Free trade will fly on every mast,
The bonded stores will then, at last,
Cry out, the ports are open.
Hurrah, etc.

Tom Duncombe, Cobden, and Dick Bright
In Parliament, on Thursday night,
They did kick up the devils fight,
And chased the Duke of R----d
Poor B----m he did lose his wig,
Old Nosey gave him such a dig,
And called him an old grunting pig,
And Bobby danced the Polka jig;
Says Bob, I surely will resign,
I tell you, Arthur, now in time,
You’d better get a piece of line,
And hang the Duke of R----d.
Hurrah, etc.

May Cromwell’s ghost, of whom they talk,
Come jumping with a piece of chalk,
And mark a road for Bob to walk,
Right to the town of Tamworth.
Sure, little John, I’ve heard it said,
Is planted now in Bobby’s stead,
He’ll give you plenty of cheap bread
For ten years after you are dead.
The whigs are getting into power,
The tories are all looking sour,
The very thoughts of foreign flour
Will make them cut their wison.
Hurrah, etc.

Now to conclude and end my song,
I hope to see before it’s long,
The corn-brokers in a throng
All sailing to Hanover.
For now they cry out wirnstrew,
And damn the duke of Waterloo.
Oh dear, oh dear, what shall we do?
Free trade will surely make us rue.
So, ladies, all come shout huzza,
For now comes on the glorious day
When plenty of cheap bread, beef, and tea,
Will make you smile so charming.
Hurrah, etc.

THE following is given as a specimen of contemporary “flapdoodle.”

_THE CRISIS._

1846.

WHEN fell corruption’s bands conspire
To legalize injustice dire;
To rob a people, brave and free,
What shall resist the Tyranny?
To counteract the vile intrigue,
The God of truth upraised THE LEAGUE,

When grasping Tyrants--greedy elves--
Make laws which but enrich themselves;
Who shall their power and force withstand,
And stay the ’curst oppressor’s hand?
THE LEAGUE!--the people’s chosen band,
Shall stay the ’curst oppressor’s hand.

Tho’ meddling Dukes of vast renown
Would cast a noble people down;
(The silly tribe affect affright,
Tho’ proxies[60] fill their pockets quite.)
THE LEAGUE shall lead (as soon ’twill be)
A people firm--a people free!

What boots it, that we laurels gain
On crimson’d field, or on the main,
If selfish senators befool us,
If the domestic spoilers rule us?
THE LEAGUE on such has kept its eye,
And _Registration_ is the cry.

When a “bold peasantry” decays;
When want creeps in a thousand ways;
When tenant farmers struggling hard
Thro’ toilsome years get--_no reward_.
THE LEAGUE will rescue--come what may;
Nor care they for the landlord’s bray.

When drooping trade declines its head;
When starving thousands cry for bread;
When sorrowing age seeks death’s kind gate,
And children wail their hapless fate.
THE LEAGUE _must_ to the throne appeal,
While millions cry “Repeal--Repeal.”

Names which were once the nation’s blight,
Fair York and Lancaster[61]--unite;
Old feuds forgotten--now their pride
Is to march _onward_ side by side.
THE LEAGUE--their boast--their hope--their joy;
Pure sterling ore without alloy.

When clouds hung o’er the drama’s name,
What gave to Covent Garden Fame?
When Stage, Pit, Gallery, Boxes, all
Echoed each voice at Freedom’s call;
THE LEAGUE supplied each honour’d name
That gave to Covent Garden[62] fame.

“Give us our daily bread” pray we;
“Stop, stop,” cries vile _monopoly_,
“Before _you_ wants are well supplied,
For all _my sons_ you _shall provide_.”
THE LEAGUE--the monster doth expose,
And burns a torch beneath its nose.

ALBION--thy wrongs shall disappear;
SCOTIA--hold on--be of good cheer;
ERIN--thy griefs removed shall be,
Justice, tho’ late, shall visit thee.
THE LEAGUE doth its assistance lend;
Of none the foe--of all the friend.

’Ere long, fair knowledge will unfold
Her ample page--brighter than gold;
Ere long, the Laws which tyrants used
Shall yield to those which Heaven diffused.
THE LEAGUE shall then its work have done,
And all rejoice o’er victories won.

Ye powers divine--who care for all
That breathe on this terraqueous ball,
FREE TRADE and every blessing give!
“O teach the nations _how_ to live!”
Still shall EACH LEAGUER’S motto be,
“Justice, Love, Peace, Humanity.”

AFTER any great National movement, the ferment takes some time to
subside. Many agitators find their occupation gone, and look around
for some other strife to stir up. There is always an advanced
Radical school in every nation, and after the Reform Bill was
settled, “the People’s Charter” took its place. What was required
were the six following “Points”:--_Universal Suffrage, Vote by
Ballot, Annual Parliaments, Payment of the Members, the Abolition
of the Property Qualification, and equal Electoral Districts_. In
1838 they made armed demonstrations in several parts of the
country, and rioting took place in 1839. In 1848 monster petitions
in its favour were presented to Parliament, and on April 10 of that
year 200,000 men were invited to assemble on Kennington Common, and
march to the Houses of Parliament. About one-tenth of them
appeared, and, having full knowledge of the number of troops and
special constables who would oppose their progress, they thought
“discretion the better part of valour” and dispersed to their
homes. This was the last of “the Charter.”

_CHARTISTS ARE COMING._

WHAT a row and a rumpus there is I declare,
Tens of thousands are flocking from every where,
To petition the Parliament, onward they steer,
The Chartists are coming, oh dear, oh dear,
To demand equal justice, their freedom and right,
Pump handles and broom sticks, lawk, how they can fight!
The nation they say is o’erwhelmed with grief;
A peck loaf for twopence, and four pounds of beef.

_Chorus._

Hurrah for old England and liberty sweet,
The land that we live in and plenty to eat,
We shall ever remember this wonderful day,
See the Chartists are coming, get out of the way.

Such a number together was never yet seen,
Hurrah for the Charter, and God save the Queen!
And when that the Charter, Old England has got,
We’ll have stunning good beer at three halfpence a pot:
A loaf for a penny, a pig for a crown,
And gunpowder tea at five farthings a pound:
Instead of red herrings, we’ll live on fat geese,
And lots of young women at two pence a piece.

The bakers and grocers, look how they do laugh,
With dustmen and coal heavers armed with a staff.
Five thousand old women, oh, how they do sing,
With frying pans, fenders, and big rolling pins.
There’s Russell, and Bobby, old Nosey, and Hume,
With pistols and bayonets, muskets and brooms,
Load away, fire away, chatter and jaw,
Shoot at a donkey and knock down a crow.

See the lads of old Erin for liberty crow,
Repeal of the Union and Erin-go-bragh!
Peace and contentment, then none can we blame,
Plenty of labour, and paid for the same;
Some are rolling in riches, and luxury, too,
While millions are starving with nothing to do;
Through the Nation prosperity soon will be seen,
Hurrah for the Charter, and God save the Queen!

Such constables there are in London, now mark,
Tailors and shoemakers, labourers and clerks,
Gas light men, pick pockets, firemen too,
Green grocers, hatters, pork butchers, and Jews:
Lollipop merchants, and masons a lot,
And the covey what hollows “Baked taters all hot.”
They are sworn to protect us, and keep well the peace,
To frighten the Chartists and help the police.

THIS is the sort of stuff that was disseminated among the people at
the time of the agitation for “the Charter,” and, looking at the
convulsion of 1848, which shook Europe to its centre, it speaks
volumes for the good sense of the lower classes that they were not
stirred up to acts of violence by such inflammatory rubbish as the
following.

_THE SONG OF THE LOWER CLASSES._

By ERNEST JONES.

Music by John Lowry. This song can also be sung to the air of “The Monks of Old.”

WE plough and sow--we’re so very, very low
That we delve in the dirty clay,
Till we bless the plain--with the golden grain,
And the vale with the fragrant hay.
Our place we know,--we’re so very low,
’Tis down at the landlord’s feet:
We’re not too low--the bread to grow,
But too low the bread to eat.[63]

Down, down we go,--we’re so very low,
To the hell of the deep sunk mines,
But we gather the proudest gems that glow,
When the crown of a despot shines.
And whenever he lacks--upon our backs
Fresh loads he deigns to lay:
We’re far too low to vote the tax,
But not too low to pay.

We’re low--we’re low--mere rabble, we know,
But, at our plastic power,
The mould at the lordling’s feet will grow
Into palace and church and tower.
Then prostrate fall--in the rich man’s hate,
And cringe at the rich man’s door;
We’re not too low to build the wall,
But too low to tread the floor.

We’re low--we’re low--we’re very very low,
Yet from our fingers glide
The silken flow--and the robes that glow
Round the limbs of the sons of pride.
And what we get--and what we give--
We know, and we know our share;
We’re not too low the cloth to weave,
But too low the Cloth to wear!

We’re low--we’re low--we’re very very low,
And yet when the trumpets ring,
The thrust of a poor man’s arm will go
Thro’ the heart of the proudest King.
We’re low--we’re low--our place we know,
We’re only the rank and file,
We’re not too low--to kill the foe,
But too low to touch the spoil.

_A NEW HUNTING SONG._

NOW those that are low spirited I hope won’t think it wrong,
While I sing to you a verse or two of a new hunting song;
For the hunting season has set in, or else just now begun,
Our heroes all will have their fun with the dog and gun.

_Chorus._

And a hunting they will go, will go,
And a hunting they will go, will go!
They’ll use all means, and try all schemes,
For to keep the poor man low.

With one of our brave huntsmen, I’m going to commence,
His name it was bold Bonaparte, he was a man of sense;
He hunted off from Corsica upon a game of Chance,
And hunted until he became the Emperor of France.

The next huntsman was Wellington, he’d the best of luck,
He hunted from lieutenant, till he became a Duke,
His men did fight well for him, and did his honour gain,
He done his best endeavours to have their pensions taken.

As for our hero Nelson, he hunted well for fame,
He was as bold a huntsman as e’er hunted on the main;
And for his warlike valour, he always bore the sway,
Till a cannon ball caused his downfall, all in Trafalgar Bay.

Prince Albert to this country came hunting for a wife,
He got one whom he loved dear as his own life;
Oh yes, a blooming little Queen for to dandle on his knee
With thirty thousand pounds a year paid from this country.

O’Connell he went hunting all through old Ireland’s vale,
And says he’ll go on hunting until he gets repeal.
They swear they’ll have a Parliament in Dublin once more,
And make the trade to flourish all round green Erin’s shore.

John Frost in Wales a hunting went, and well knew how to ride
He had a fine bred Chartist horse, but got on the wrong side,
If he had held the reins quite firm in his own hand,
They’d ne’er have hunted him into Van Diemans Land.

The Queen she went a hunting thro’ Scotland and France,
She hunted foreign countries through to learn the Polka dance;
Bobby Peel, he’s a huntsman bold, was never known to fail,
He hunted up the Income Tax, and then the Corn Law Bill.

They’re hunting up the poor man, he’s hunted every day,
And hawkers too, if they do not a heavy licence pay.
They won’t allow the poor to beg, it is a crime to steal,
For the one there’s the Union, for the other there’s the gaol.

So to conclude my hunting song, I hope you’ll all agree
While the poor are starved and hunted down, the rich
will have their spree.
To complain is quite a crime, for poor you’re to remain,
The Parson says, if you’re content, Heaven you’re sure to gain.

_THE WONDERFUL WONDERS OF TOWN._[64]

GOOD neighbours, pray listen--nay do but come round,
I’ve a tale that shall puzzle your heads I’ll be bound;
From London I’ve ’scap’d pretty glad to get down,
And tell you the wonderful wonders of town.

The streets ’luminated I walked every night,
And the devil a bit could I see for the light;
Such pictures, lamps, feathers, stars, anchors, and jokes,
With Boney, the devil, and all sorts of volks.

Lords, pickpockets, ladies, lamplighters, girls, boys,
I didn’t think Peace could have made such a noise.
Push’d, bump’d, lump’d, and thump’d, when I tried to retire,
I was out of the frying pan into the fire.

Then the Emperor’s fist was at every one’s call,
Till princes and kings went for nothing at all;
And, English good manners to show so polite,
We pulled ’em and hauled ’em, from morning till night.

Then the Cossack Horse Soldiers as fought with our foes,
We kill’d ’em with kindness, as all the world knows,
And gave ’em such welcome and hearty good cheer,
They’d no time to get shav’d all the time they were here.

Two jolly old lions we must not forget,
To Platoff and Blucher, how much we’re in debt;
The Mob cried, Come out, like wild beasts, ’twas so droll,
I expected to see ’em stirred up with a pole.

The Sarpentine river, it looked if so be,
All the cock boats i’ Lunnun had put out to sea;
Grown up to great ships their gay canvas now swells,
As big, pretty near, as at Saddler’s Wells.

You never see’d yet a procession so fine,
As when into the City the Kings went to dine;
I gap’d with mouth open, like many an elf,
Till no dinner I got to put in it my self.

Next Peace were proclaimed, when King Charles on his horse,
Counts the coaches as start from the old Golden Cross;
And the Herald, so call’d who cried down wars alarms,
Looked like the Kings Head stuck a top of his Arms.

Now safely return’d, for lost time I’ll make up,
So down with the bacon, and round wi’ the cup;
And I’ll drink may _Peace_ also the Yankees subdue,
And turn their _Merry ca_, into our merry cue.

One word more--of all sights that in town I did see,
There was one sight worth all the whole bundle to me,
Great Wellington’s self who has made the world ring,
With glory, God bless him, and God save the king.

_LAW._[65]

COME, listen to me a minute,
A song, I’m going to begin it,
There’s something serious in it,
So, pray attention draw,
A serious thing I thought it,
Experience, I have bought it,
Will you, or not be taught it,
I sing the charms of Law.
L--A--W. Law,
It’s met with the deuce of a claw.

_Chorus._

If you’re fond of pure vexation,
And a long procrastination,
You’re just in a situation,
To enjoy a suit at law.

When your cause is just beginning,
You only think of winning,
Attornies slyly grinning,
While your cash they draw.
With brief and consultation,
Bill and replication,
Latin and botheration,
While the Counsel loudly jaw,
J--A--W. Jaw,
Is a very great thing in law

Snail like your cause is creeping,
It hinders you from sleeping,
Attornies only reaping,
While your cash they draw.
D--R--A--W Draw,
It’s the mainspring of the Law.
Misery, toil, and trouble,
Makes up the hubble bubble,
And leaves you nothing but stubble,
And makes you a man of straw.
L--A--W. Law.
It divides the wheat from the straw.

When your case is just near ending,
Your case is no wise mending,
Expense each step attending,
And then they find a flaw.
Then the Judge, like any Jackdaw,
Oh, he lays down, what is law,
In a rotten stick your trust is,
And though you don’t get Justice,
You’re sure to get plenty of Law.
L--A--W. Law.
It leaves you not worth a straw.

So, if life’s all sugar and honey,
And fortune has always been sunny,
And you want to get rid of your money,
I’d advise you to go to law.
Like ice in a rapid thaw,
Your cash will melt awa’,
Comfort, ’tis folly to care for,
Life is a lottery--therefore,
Without a why, or a wherefore,
I’d advise you to go to Law.
L--A--W. Law,
Oh! ’twill like a blister draw.

_JIM CROW._