All those who brew their home brew’d beer then, At times I’m sure will quake with fear then, And dread to let it in the vat lay, Lest it should happen to work on that day, Then if you’re seized with cough or phtisic, You must not even swallow physic! For ’its decreed all rest that one day, So not even salts must work on Sunday! Dumb animals they’ll be strangely puzzled, When Sunday comes each dog must be muzzled, The cocks must on their roosts abide up, And to stop their crowings their beaks must be tied up, A noise with contempt will the act be treating, The calves and the sheep must be kept from bleating, The dairies must close from twelve to twelve, sir, And as to the cows they must milk themselves, sir. No duck must lay, no cat must kitten, The hen must leave her nest through sitting, Though painful is the separation, She must quit the scene of incubation! Married men will to quake be inclined then, For fear their wives should be confined then, For as no labour’s allowed on Sundays, Of course she must put it off till the Mondays. John Harkness, Printer, 121, Church Street, Preston. A NEW SONG ON THE REPEAL OF THE CORN LAWS. Come every heart rejoice with me, We soon will have a glorious spree, Cheap food once more we soon shall see, Throughout the British Nation, The ports they are thrown open wide, And ships will mount the foaming tide, And plenty to our shores will glide, From every foreign Nation, For Bob and Arthur met one day, Those words I heard them for to say. To us the people did long pray, Delay it is a danger. CHORUS. So rejoice and sing the ports are free, Such thumping loaves you soon will see. With pies and dumplings, O what glee, Throughout the British Nation. The Cabinet they thought it right, To put this famine to the flight, And not to tempt a nation’s might,-- The belly gives no quarter, They one and all gave their consent, Their stubborn hearts they soon were bent, And the bread tax chains they quickly rent, That long oppress’d this nation, The van was led by Bobby Blue, And the boasting cock of Waterloo, For a Revolution would not do, They dread its desperation. The bonded grain must soon come out, It will give monopolists the gout, And put them to the right about, To meet this competition; Their rusty bars and locks so strong, Must open wide before it’s long; With grief they’ll hear our merry song, For long they’re liv’d in clover; The granaries with corn and flour Into our markets will pour, And the bread tax loaf we’ll soon devour, That caus’d such desolation.