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 succour 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 made than machinery--
Stockings fetch better prices than lives--
Gibbets on Sherwood will heighten the scenery,
Shewing how Commerce, how Liberty thrives!
Justice is now in pursuit of the wretches,
Grenadiers, Volunteers, Bow-street Police,
Twenty-two Regiments, a score of Jack Ketches,
Three of the Quorum and 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 LIVERPOOL 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_.