Oh well done Lord E—n! and better done R-r! Britannia must prosper with councils like yours; Hawkesbury,
Harrowby, help you to guide her, whose remedy only must kill ere it cures: Those
villains, the Weavers, are all grown refractory, Asking some succor for Charity’s sake— So
hang them in clusters round each Manufactory, That will at once put an end to mistake. The
rascals, perhaps, may betake them to robbing, The dogs to be sure have got nothing to eat— So
if we can hang them for breaking a bobbin, ’T will save all the Government’s money and meat: Men
are more easily make than machinery— Stockings fetch better prices than live— Gibbets
on Sherwood will heighten the scenery, Showing
how Commerce, how Liberty thrives! Justice
is now in pursuit of the wretches, Grenadiers, Volunteers, Bon-street Police, Twenty-two
Regiments, a score Juck Ketches, Three of the Quorum and the two of the Peace; Some
Lords, to be sure, would have summoned the Judges, To take their opinion, but that they ne’er
shall, For
LIVEPOOL such a concession begrudges, So now they’re condemned by no judges at all. Some
folks for certain have thought it was shocking, When Famine appeals and when Poverty groans, That
Life should be valued at less than a stocking, And breaking of frames lead to breaking of
bones. If
it should prove so, I trust, by this token, (And who will refuse to partake in the hope?) That
the frames of the fools may be first to be broken, Who, when asked for a remedy, sent down a rope. |
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