(8)
In every market there's plenty you ſee,
And to hold it up dear the farmers agree;
If they drop their prices they do ſuppoſe,
Their ſons and daughters can ne'er get fine clothes.
The farmer's old daughter to her mother ſhe cry'd
A new faſhion'd head dreſs for me now provide,
And another new faſhion'd form ſhall be found,
Our butter we'll ſell for a ſhilling a pound.
The ſecond young miſs on her mother did frown,
Remember the fair, I muſt have a new gown,
Dear mother I hope you'll not me controul,
You can double the price on the eggs and the fowl.
The mother cries daughter, I'll grant your deſire,
I'll dreſs you up grand, you ſhall wed with the ſquire,
I'll go to the market; the poor I'll oppreſs,
Saying the cows give no milk and there's little graſs.
We've had as bad harveſt as e'er you did ſee,
But meal-mongers and bakers are ſure to agree,
And the farmer is willing to ſoon let them know,
There's but little corn and the moſt of it ſtraw.
How long have we ſuffer'd and found no relief,
The butcher's lay in their mutton and beef,
Search this world all over no conſcience is found,
Aſk the price of their meat, they ſay 6d. the pound.
The poor working men are to pity good lack!
They are loaded with work till their bones do crack,
They work till they drop and are taken up dead,
For all their hard labour can hardly get bread.
Let thoſe poor grinding wretches attend to my call,
Meal-mongers, ingroſſers, foreſtallers and all,
Let them leave of their tricks. and do ſo no more,
Leſt hell be their portion for ſtarving the poor.
F I N I S.
