A KEW SONG ON THE
Cude bless us, Janet, boo'i the wirr
Or what has blawn you here,
S.ur face just looks as pale as death,
There' rFor ething wrang, I fear.
liu come i. oJ'r and tak' a seat,
A~d ri'es a' your crack:
I lrou thetr lf;lv a at hame-
lia, your Johr p'inry o' warck
F:.I we h.-.ar o' crnch ut b poorer,
In coaarv and in toun.
Or Masters breakiop ever dlVay,
And the wages coming doun
I 'l ibby, lass. the times arc bad.
And that the puir folks ken,
'ILt \'ll iive us ia to beggarr,
Lnless the times soon ernd.
'I h run for cash upon the Balk.,
lls (raaed a sad uproar-
I tIiuk ii't just a plan they ltu.k
To tub and ,rl:.ve the poor.
In Paiily, and in Glasgow, to,.,
'te Cotton )lills. we bear,
Are onlr rinnin' on bill lime,
Which puir folks find secure.
In England, Ireland, and Scotland,
Wherever thbar e o o,
There are hundre-ls walking idle
For the want ol wark to do.
And thepuir handloom weaver
In hundrerls walk the street,
Wi' n.arce a rag upon their backs
Or aShtn upon the;r feet ;
For hundreds o' them's breakan: ti res
For 'ixpence i' the da ;
And a' their bits o' decent claes
To the pawnshops' gane away.
In the mannfacturing district,
You very well do know,
Hundreds, in search o' work,
Are wandering to and fro.
And money a decent family
Are forced to leave their home,
Wi' their little starving children,
'Ihrough the country for to roam.
But if the times don't quickly mend,
What will the pair folks do
For in thousands they are tarving--
I'm sure you'll own that's true !
For, with giant trides, cauld poverty
Is stalking o'er the land;
Go where we will, the times are bad,
And trade near at a tand.