Pigs' meat; or, lessons for the swinish multitude: Published in weekly penny numbers, collected by the poor man's advocate (an old veteran in the cause of freedom) in the course of his reading for more than twenty years. Intended to promote among the labouring part of mankind proper ideas of their situation, of their importance, and of their rights. And to convince them that their forlorn condition has not been entirely overlooked and forgotten, nor their just cause unpleaded, neither by their maker not by the best and most enlightened of men in all ages. [pt.1]
Spence, Thomas, 1750-1814.
THE YEAR NINETY-THREE. A SONG.
COME hither good people, come hither and hear,
The dainty fine deeds of this marvellous year,
For ever and ever each Briton so free,
In triumph shall carol the year Ninety-Three.
We all call to mind not a twelvemonth ago,
Our trade was increasing, our riches did flow;
Each heart was then light, fill'd with mirth and with glee,
We had not yet come to the year Ninety-Three.
The devil ill bearing to see us so gay,
To tame our proud spirits, soon found out a way;
In his friend Billy's ear he was ever a flea,
Crying "war Billy war," then behold Ninety-Three.
Each day and each hour a merchant then stops,
Only shutters are seen, they all shut up their shops,
Whole families ruined! 'twas piteous to see—
Oh what a fine year was the year Ninety-Three!!!
Trade's now at an end, there's no work to be found,
Brave Britons are dying with hunger around.
Page 280Or at famine's approach to the Continent flee,
And York lets their blood—that's the year Ninety-Three.
By sea and by land, nought but shame and defeat,
('Tis the judgment of heaven) our arms ever meet.
The like Britain never, no never, did see!
Oh shame of all shames, is the year Ninety-Three.
In ancient good times 'twas the Briton's proud boast,
To be loyal, yet free, King and Country his toast,
To praise or to censure then boldly dar'd he—
'Twas in ancient good times—not in year Ninety-Three.
Now pillory, whipping post, British bastille,
The loss of old times makes each Englishman feel:
No spirit, no thought, now dare circulate free,
For Pitt, Kenyon, Dundas, in curst Ninety-Three.