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Chartist's flare-up on Witsun-monday [sic]

(25) Chartist's flare-up on Witsun-monday [sic]

The CHARTIST's Flare-up on


            Tune,—"Paddy will you now."

[NLS note: a graphic appears here - see image of page]

THE Chartists all are going mad,
And Old John Bull looks very sad ;
They are asking for a tidy lot,
and that I really can't tell what.
They want says John and nothing minces,
To be made Kings, Lords, and Princes,
And each of them wants his old woman
To spin a yarn in the House of Commons.


Tow, row, row, what a glorious row,
There is with the Chartists on Whitsun
monday everv where

The Constables are all sworn in,
To carry a monsterous rolling pin.
The little Prince of Wales we're told,
Has a truncheon made of irish Gold,
Prince alfred has a summer cabbage.
Prince aloert carries a German sausage,
Lord Landsdowne carries his kitchen saddle,
and Bobby Peel a leg of the table.

The ladies too have warrants bright,
and they must all turn out and fight,
Ladies maids with clarence boots,
House-maids, kitchen-maids, and cooks,
Queen vic, declared she'd have a tustle,
and kill the chartists with her bustle.
While old Duke Nosey swore hed punch'em
With a shining gutta percha trunchenn.

Now when the specials did go by,
The little boys and girls did cry—
Move along right face about,
nd does your mother know you're out.
Children squalled and women jangled,
Crying has your mother sold her mangle,
How you would laugh to see them running
Clear the way the police are coming.

There were nine old maids went out we
On Whitmonday to have a sprce,
And when two soldiers they beheld,
In shericks on the ground they fell,
They shouted help Fergus O'Conner,
Bet fel down and ick fel on her,
And a lady hollowe pray let go her,
You have broke her bustle and spilt her bos

Since France such curious games have had,
They have drove the English chartists mad
John Bull can't tell which way to rule,
Such monstrous lots of rogues and fools.
Clear the way and toddle on q ick,
Shovels, pokers, pikes and broom-sticks,
And all those chartists games so clever,
We'll end in a bottle of smoke and leather

You would laugh to see the peo le roam,
When they at night are going home,
With broken hats and bonnets too,
Some tare their coats some lost their shoes
Teeth knocke out as some supposes,
Besides black eyes, and bloody roses,
Some lost their shawls and some their riches,
And some had their s irts ha ging out of
their bre ches.

The times are hard we all well know,
And thousands scarce know what to do.
It is very cruel John Bull said,
To see the poor people wanting bread,
But I'm afraid they will not hit it,
I wish the charter they may get it,
I wish O'Connor joy and cosey
May take the place of old Duke nosey.

So to conclude and make an end,
I hope the times will shortly mend,
And all the collegemen, oh fegs,
Shall guard the streets with wooden legs,
Tag rag and bob tail how they are running,
When they see the policemen coming,
All this confussion row and rachet,
Will be quelled iat the sight of a soldiers

C. Paul, Printer, Gt. St. Andrew St 7 Dials

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