Long life attend brave noble Dan, and all the brave Repealers, They stood true to their country and their creed in spite of every traitor; Brave John O’Connell and Tom Steele we are bound for to remember, With Barrat, Ray, Duffy and Gray, they never would surrender. When they appeared before the court to defend their country’s cause, sir, Our hero Dan, that matchless man, he did explain the laws, sir; He says, my country’s rights I’ll defend while blood remains in my veins, sir, And we’ll ne’er desist, but still insist, till the Union I obtain, sir. When the writ of error it was brought before the House of Lords, sir, Lord Denman, Campbell and Cottingham did explain the laws, sir, The Lord Chancellor and Brougham, their schemes were all defeated, I’m sure the Tories will run mad since Dan is liberated. So now my friends I will conclude these lines that I have penn’d, sir, We’ll drink a health unto brave Dan, long may he live and reign, sir, He’ll plant the Tree of Liberty once more in College Green, sir, And while life remains brave noble Dan for ever he’ll wear the green, sir. A NEW SONG ON THE TIMES. Good people all I pray draw near, We have entered in another year, The markets now they must come down, Both in country and in town; The farmers now begin to grin, Their corn to market must bring in, The ports are opened now you see, In spite of all their roguery. They’ve risen the barley, flour, and meal, I think they must have hearts like steel, And wages are so very low, Fills poor men’s hearts with grief and woe; The potatoes too, you all must know, Have proved poor people’s overthrow, If they had been good, I am very sure They never would have rais’d the flour. The rich have all things at command, While poverty rages through the land, And bread it is so very dear, Draws from poor people many a tear; The store houses are breaking down with grain, No wonder that the poor complain, In the midst of plenty you plainly see, They are dying from want and poverty. The Americans have provisions in store, From the black sea they will send us more, The millers and farmers will look blue, They’ll not know which way for to do; I hope that trade may flourish once more, Upon this our native shore, Then the working man will be right glad To see his children well cloth’d and fed. The maltsters and brewers they stamp and swear, With sugar and treacle must brew their beer, For all the malt that they do use, Must all be made into barley loaves; So drunkards all I tell to you true, It’s old hock you must bid adieu! No more of that will be I vow, So you must drink all treacle now.