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Song I. THE FILE HEWER'S LAMENTATION.
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| LV. |
 | The songs of Joseph Mather |  |
1
Song I. THE FILE HEWER'S LAMENTATION.
Ordained I was a beggar,
And have no cause to swagger;
It pierces like a dagger—
To think I'm thus forlorn.
My trade or occupation
Was ground for lamentation,
Which makes me curse my station,
And wish I'd ne'er been born.
And have no cause to swagger;
It pierces like a dagger—
To think I'm thus forlorn.
My trade or occupation
Was ground for lamentation,
Which makes me curse my station,
And wish I'd ne'er been born.
Of slaving I am weary,
From June to January!
To nature it's contrary—
This, I presume, is fact.
Although, without a stammer,
Our Nell exclaims I clam her,
I wield my six-pound hammer
'Till I am grown round-back'd.
From June to January!
To nature it's contrary—
This, I presume, is fact.
Although, without a stammer,
Our Nell exclaims I clam her,
I wield my six-pound hammer
'Till I am grown round-back'd.
I'm debtor to a many,
But cannot pay one penny;
Sure I've worse luck than any;
My traps are marked for sale.
My creditors may sue me,
The bailiffs may pursue me,
And lock me up in jail.
But cannot pay one penny;
Sure I've worse luck than any;
My traps are marked for sale.
My creditors may sue me,
The bailiffs may pursue me,
And lock me up in jail.
As negroes in Virginia,
In Maryland or Guinea,
Like them I must continue—
To be both bought and sold.
While negro ships are filling
I ne'er can save one shilling,
And must, which is more killing,
A pauper die when old.
In Maryland or Guinea,
Like them I must continue—
To be both bought and sold.
While negro ships are filling
I ne'er can save one shilling,
And must, which is more killing,
A pauper die when old.
My troubles never ceased,
While Nell's bairn time increased;
While hundreds I've rehearsed,
Ten thousand more remain;
My income for me, Nelly,
Bob, Tom, Poll, Bet, and Sally,
Could hardly fill each belly,
Should we eat salt and grains.
While Nell's bairn time increased;
While hundreds I've rehearsed,
Ten thousand more remain;
2
Bob, Tom, Poll, Bet, and Sally,
Could hardly fill each belly,
Should we eat salt and grains.
At every week's conclusion
New wants bring fresh confusion,
It is but mere delusion
To hope for better days,
While knaves with power invested,
Until by death arrested,
Oppress us unmolested
By their infernal ways.
New wants bring fresh confusion,
It is but mere delusion
To hope for better days,
While knaves with power invested,
Until by death arrested,
Oppress us unmolested
By their infernal ways.
A hanging day is wanted;
Was it by justice granted,
Poor men distress'd and daunted
Would then have cause to sing—
To see in active motion
Rich knaves in full proportion,
For their unjust extortion
And vile offences swing.
Was it by justice granted,
Poor men distress'd and daunted
Would then have cause to sing—
To see in active motion
Rich knaves in full proportion,
For their unjust extortion
And vile offences swing.
| The songs of Joseph Mather | |