Tradesman's farewell/The Tradesman's Farewell

The Tradesman's Farewell.

Fare you well, dear wife and children,
⁠For now I'm going to sea;
It grieves me to part with you,
⁠But here I cannot stay;
Provisions are so very dear,
⁠And trading is so low,
It grieves me for to part with you,
⁠But now it must be so.

My dear, said she, why should you venture
⁠Your life where cannons roar,
To leave your wife and family
⁠Lamenting here on shore?
Pray do not rove, but stay at home,
⁠Content your mind, my dear,
The times my take a better turn
⁠In the ensuing year.

Molly, said he, believe me really,
⁠I tell you as a friend,
There is no sign, or likelihood
⁠These pinching times will mend;
The market’s been so very high,
⁠And the farmers still complain,
That they cannot pay their rents
⁠But by high prices for the grain.

Many a good mechanic,
⁠Through mere necessity,
Is gone on board a man of war,
⁠And left his family;
There’s scarce any encouragement
⁠For man’s industry,
Tis better to serve the King,
⁠Than live in poverty.

Great numbers of our tradesmen
⁠Have nothing for to do;
The weaver’s loom is idle,
⁠Which does his grief renew;
What can surpass their great distress!
⁠Their comfort is but small;
Instead of having a free trade,
⁠They have no trade at all.

Likewise those crafty meal-men
⁠Great profit they do make,
And those cunning little bakers
⁠Advantages do take;
The loaf is small, yet, after all,
⁠They crib an ounce or two;
Poor people, by experience,
⁠They know it to be true.

The widows and their orphans,
⁠Alas! are in great need;
To hear their lamentation
⁠Would make your heart to bleed

Their hunger’s great, none can relate
⁠What hardships they endure;
Few ever think upon them,
⁠And take pity on the poor.

Now to conclude, and end my song,
⁠May war’s effects decay,
And the British manufactories
⁠Still flourish every day
Dear Molly I am going
⁠To plough the raging main,
May all happiness attend you
⁠Till I return again.