For Reform, meet again, boys, on Monday I say, Let trumpets sound loudly, we’ll yet gain the day, Your banners wave proudly, and shout, boys, hurrah! When to Blackheath on Monday you start; Manhood suffrage, you know, is the working man’s own. We only want that which is right, Then raise loud your voices, the cause we shall gain, If united we stand in our might. Then forward for Liberty, Justice, and Right, On Blackheath, my boys, ’twas a glorious sight, And shout loud for Gladstone, for Beales, and for Bright, Manhood Suffrage for ever, hurrah! We’ll have it at last, of that you may be sure, If they had not turned tail we’d have had it before, We must have the Suffrage on England’s shore, To be free is all that we ask; You remember Hyde Park on the last 6th of May, When there they boldly did shout, Manhood Suffrage, the Franchise, we will have fair play, Special Constables won’t turn us out. So onward to Blackheath without care or pain In Hyde Park we have met, and will meet there again, In spite of the Specials, or old Dicky Mayne, I am sure he will not interfere; With Beales for our leader, again they will show, English workmen themselves can behave, Without the poleaxes, we can let them know, That we will not be treated like slaves. If we are to be governed, let us cry far & wide, Let us be governed well, ’tis an Englishman’s pride, And not have disturbance and bloodshed besides, On this, our own dear native land. Then let us have Justice, we do not want more, We ask for our wives and our homes, And have peace and prosperity on Britain’s shore, Then we shall have what is our own. Then wave high your banners, your trumpets then sound, Manhood Suffrage for ever! let Blackheath resound, And victory, yet we shall win, I’ll be bound, If united we stand firm and true. Long life to brave Beales & Reformers I pray, The Reform League for ever, hurrah! We’ll all work together, united we’ll be, And, my boys, we will yet gain the day. H. Disley, Printer, 57, High Street, St. Giles, London. THE FENIANS ARE COMING. Wherever we go, wherever we be, Some wonder of wonders we daily do see; All classes through Britain are trembling with fear, The Fenians are coming,--oh, don’t things look queer? The land of old Erin looks bashful and blue, Colonel Catchem and General Doodlem doo, Has crossed the Atlantic, poor Erin to sack, And carry Hibernia away on their back. There’s a rumpus in Ireland by night and by day, Old women and girls are afraid out to stray; Cheer up and be happy on St. Patrick’s day, The Fenians are coming,--get out of the way!