Part 13

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._

I CAM from ole Kentucky, A long time ago, Where I first larn to wheel about, And jump Jim Crow.

_Chorus._

Wheel about and turn about, And do jis so, Ebry time I wheel about I jump Jim Crow.

I us’d to take him fiddle, Ebry morn and afternoon, And charm the sole Buzzard, And dance to the Racoon.

I landed fust at Liverpool, Dat place of ships and docks, I strutted down Lord Street, And ask’d de price of Stocks.

I paid my fare den up to town, On de coach to cut a dash, De axletree soon gave way, And spilt us wid a smash.

I lighted den upon my head, All in de nassy dirt, Dey all thought dat I war dead, But I laughed and wasn’t hurt.

Dis head you know, am pretty tick, Cause dere it make a hole, On de dam macadmis road, Much bigger dan a bowl.

When I got into Lunnon, Dey took me for a savage, But I war pretty well behaved, So I ’gaged with Mr. Davidge.

Dem young Jim Crows bout de streets More like a Raven rader, Pray good people, don’t mistake, Indeed, I’m not dare fader.

Dem urchin’s what sing my song, Had better mind dar books. For any how dey can’t be Crows, You see d’ar only Rooks.

I have purposely refrained from giving any Nigger songs, although they belong to Street melody, except in the case of “Jim Crow,” which was the first of the flood which has been let loose upon us. There were many versions, but I have here given the copyright words, as sung by the author, and original “Jim Crow,” Thomas D. Rice, or, as he was better known, “Adelphi Rice.” He introduced it, in 1836, into a play called “A Flight to America,” and it so tickled the ears of the groundlings that it became the most popular of all modern street ballads. We may wonder what merit our grandfathers and fathers found in it, but it created an absolute furore.

_THE WORKHOUSE BOY._

THE cloth was laid in the Vorkhouse hall, The great-coats hung on the white-wash’d wall; The paupers all were blithe and gay, Keeping their Christmas holiday, When the Master he cried with a roguish leer, “You’ll all get fat on your Christmas cheer!” When one by his looks did seem to say, “I’ll have some more soup on this Christmas-day.” Oh the poor Vorkhouse Boy, etc.

At length, all on us to bed vos sent, The boy vos missing--in search ve vent: Ve sought him above, ve sought him below, Ve sought him vith faces of grief and woe; Ve sought him that hour, ve sought him that night; Ve sought him in fear, and ve sought him in fright, Ven a young pauper cried “I knows ve shall Get jolly vell vopt for losing our pal.” Oh the Poor Vorkhouse Boy, etc.

Ve sought in each corner, each crevice ve knew; Ve sought down the yard, ve sought up the flue; Ve sought in each kettle, each saucepan, each pot, In the water-butt look’d, but found him not. And veeks roll’d on;--ve vere all of us told, That somebody said, he’d been burk’d and sold; Ven our master goes out, the Parishioners vild, Cry “There goes the cove that burk’d the poor child.” Oh the Poor Vorkhouse Boy, etc.

At length the soup copper repairs did need, The Coppersmith came, and there he seed, A dollop of bones lay a grizzling there, In the leg of the breeches the poor boy did year! To gain his fill the boy did stoop, And, dreadful to tell, he was boil’d in the soup! And ve all of us say, and ve say it sincere, That he was push’d in there by an overseer. Oh the Poor Vorkhouse Boy, etc.

_THE WILD ROVER._

I’ve been a wild rover these seven long years, I’ve spent all my money in ale and strong beers, But the time has come my boys, to take better care, Unless poverty happens to fall to my share.

_Chorus._

So therefore I’ll lay up my money in store, And I never will play the wild rover any more; Wild rover, wild rover, wild rover, any more, And then I will play the wild rover no more.

I went to an ale house where I used to resort, I began for to tell them my money got short; I asked them to trust me, but their answer was nay, Such customers as you we may have every day.

Then my hands from my pockets I pulled out straightway, Pulled a handful of gold out to hear what they’d say, O! here’s ale, wine, and brandy, here’s enough of the best, It was only to try you, I was but in jest.

Begone you proud landlord, I bid you adieu, For the devil of one penny will I spend with you; For the money I’ve got boys, I’ll take better care, And I never will play the wild rover any more.

So now I’ll go home to my sweet loving wife, In hopes to live happy all the days of my life; From rambling and roving, I’ll take better care, Unless poverty happens to fall to my share.

_THE DIGGINS, O!_[66]

I’VE come back all skin and bone From the diggins, O! And I wish I’d never gone To the diggins, O! Believe me, ’tis no fun, I once weighed fifteen stone, But they brought me down to one, At the diggins, O!

I thought a good home could be found At the diggins, O! But soon I found I got aground At the diggins, O! The natives came one day, Burnt my cottage down like hay, With my wife they ran away To the diggins, O!

I built a hut with mud, At the diggins, O! That got wash’d away by flood, At the diggins, O! I used to dig, and cry It wouldn’t do to die, Undertakers charge too high At the diggins, O!

I paid for victuals with a frown, At the diggins, O! Three potatoes half a crown, At the diggins, O! Sprats five shillings a dish, If for Dutch Plaice you wish, Two dollars buys that fish, At the diggins, O!

A Crown a pound for Steaks, At the diggins, O! Ditto Chops, and no great shakes, At the diggins, O! Five “hog”[67] a small pig’s cheek, If a herring red you’d seek, One will keep you dry a week, At the diggins, O!

Table beer two bob a quart, At the diggins, O! Get your eyes gouged out for nought, At the diggins, O! Five shillings a four pound brick,[68] Butter a shilling a lick, They never gives no tick, At the diggins, O!

They tied me to a tree, At the diggins, O! With my nuggets they made free, At the diggins, O! I escaped from bodily hurt, Tho’ they stole my very shirt, I had to paint myself with dirt, At the diggins, O!

I felt quite a ruined man At the diggins, O! Thinks I, I’ll get home, if I can, From the diggins, O! I was always catching cold, And I’ve been both bought and sold, Like many more, for gold, At the diggins, O!

But now I’m safe returned From the diggins, O! Never more I mean to roam To the diggins, O! It some people’s fortune mends, Much on the man depends-- I’d sooner be here with my friends, Than at the diggins, O!

_BOTANY BAY._

COME all you men of learning, And a warning take by me, I would have you quit night walking, And shun bad company. I would have you quit night walking, Or else you’ll rue the day, You’ll rue your transportation, lads, When you’re bound for Botany Bay.

I was brought up in London town And a place I know full well, Brought up by honest parents For the truth to you, I’ll tell. Brought up by honest parents, And rear’d most tenderly, Till I became a roving blade, Which proved my destiny.