The railroads all through England have great depression made; Machinery of every kind has put a stop to trade; The innkeepers are weeping in agony and grief, And the ostlers swear they’ll buy a rope and go to felo-de-se. The steam boats to old Belzebub the watermen do wish, For they say they’ve nearly ruined them and drowned all the fish, Of all their new inventions that we have lately seen-- There was none begun or thought upon when Betty was the queen. Behold the well-bred farmer, how he can strut along, Let a poor man do whatever he will he’s always in the wrong, With hard labour and low wages he hangs his drooping head, They won’t allow him half enough to find his children bread. The farmers’ daughters ride about well clad and pockets full, With horse and saddle like a queen and boa like a bull, In their hand a flashy parasol, and on their face a veil, And a bustle nearly seven times as big as a milking pail. The nobles from the pockets of John Bull are all well paid; Sometimes you hardly know the lady from the servant maid, For now they are so very proud, silk stockings on their legs, And every step they take you think they walk on pigeon’s eggs. The tradesman he can hardly pay his rent and keep his home, And the labourer has eighteen pence a day for breaking stones, In former days the farmer rode a donkey or a mule, There never was such times before since Adam went to school. Some can live in luxury while others weep in woe, There’s very pretty difference now and a century ago, The world will shortly move by steam it may appear strange, So you must all acknowledge that England wants a change. [Illustration] A NEW SONG OF THE ELECTION. “THE CAP, THOSE WHOM IT FITS MAY WEAR IT.” O the general Electiom is coming they say, What an huhabolu and a bustle there’ll be, With the new candidates to be Parliament men, And the old ones who wished for to go back again. There’ll be all sorts of shuffling and all kinds of rigs, There’s some will call Tories and some will call Whigs, There’s some will wear colours, blue, orange, and red, And to prove which is best, they’ll break each other’s heads. O the general Election is coming they say, What canvassing, coaxing, and thumping there’ll be, While some will shout ---- and ---- so clever, And others bawl ---- and free trade for ever. O the Whigs for ten years have cut a great swell, But now by the Tories they’ve been wollop’d well, And to pay off the bad boys with a good tit for tat, They are sending them home to see how they like that. This has caused amongst Tories and Whigs a great rout, And many may go tell their mothers the’re out, While some of the boobies will do a deal worse, By loosing their election, and emptying their purse,