Of the illegitimate Norman school,
Who've laid our husbandmen in bond,
Like eels pent up in shallow pond—
Curfewing us, and then with 'charters'
Just lighting some to adore their garters;
All this we've borne, and worse behind,
The money-men who 'sow the wind, '
And 'bills of rights' by taxes paid—
Like child by its mother overlaid—
Till, what with thief's and murderer's ration,
We've cross'd to a tarnation station—
At least a break-leg elevation.
We've told how royal Betsy swore,
That rights of right belong'd to the poor :
Of late the Solons of the nation
Out of their bag of legislation
(The bag o' the spider, not o' the bee)
Have spun a web, a twist of three,
Of such a monstrous complication—

Good meanings it is said pave hell :
There's not a doubt but they mean'd well—

It threats the poor with worse starvation
Than when bluff Harry kick'd the monks out

8

Our tale will show you what 'tis about.
'Your introduction tires the reader;
Directly with your tale proceed!' Y'ur
Honour's will shall be obey'd.—

BOB THIN a weaver was, by trade;
An honest lad, and most industrious;
Therefore (we dare to say it) illustrious;
One who would ply his busy loom
From dawn to the very 'crack of doom';
Of kindly nature; one who never
Turn'd back on needy brother weaver.
These were Bob's virtues; place he had, too,
In the 'bus that every man is cad to—
And woman eke, since Eve bit apple —
Sin's 'bus that thunders through Whitechapel,
The regularest 'bus of fifty :
In plain terms, Bob was not o'er thrifty;
He had (the truth, Sir, must be told !)
A most immoral scorn of gold.

9

No charity might enter in
To cheer the misers' wintering.
Even in this place of misery
Lived Bob in his prosperity;
In a poor-furnish'd, 'two-room'd' hole,
Undrain'd, unventilated, foul,
Mean, miserable as the soul
Of landlord Christian: yet Bob spun

From morn till 'dewy eve,' was one
Whose labour never was relax'd,
Who had been duly christen'd, tax'd,
And rated; and thus lived in the lees
Of a fat-bishop'd diocese.
But Bob's was no uncommon case:
He fared like others of his race,
O' the working Pariah caste, who meet ye

16

In the heart of London's wealthiest city—
London for 'charities' renown'd;
Despite the daily traces found
Of hoary Squalor's crippled feet
'Twixt Lambeth and Threadneedle-street.
Squalor resides in Bethnal-green!
And there, oftimes, our gracious Queen
Cheereth not with her lustrous face

The common dimness of the place;
Though she delighted, it is said,
To see Van Amburgh's lions fed;
God bless her Majesty's sweet features !
Lions are interesting creatures.
Yet, Lady! would it not be grander
To feed the hungry poor who wander,
Through all weather, early and late,

17

To and fro—for they dare not wait—
Before your guarded palace-gate :
With whom even Pimlico abounds,
Worse cared for than your Grace's hounds?
The very dogs lick'd Lazarus' wounds.
Good God! The court-fool stops us short :—
What! Famine introduced at Court ?
Peace, grumbler! it has been determined,

At the suggestion of an ermined
Prime Minister, whom we would rather
Not mention, that the reverend father
In God, his grace the Metropoli-
Tan, so eminently quali-
Fied for any liberal act
Tow'rd Christian poor,—we give no fact,
But state it on authority,—

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That he and her dear Majesty
On voyage of discovery
Will start, early some sunny morn,
To visit Christianly the lorn
Abodes of labour to be seen
In the province of far Bethnal-green.
We've paced the distance, and have found,
To cross the intervening ground,

From Buckingham Palace to Bob Thin's door,
Would take the Royal Coach just one hour.
Then there's the guards' and horses' trappings,
Not to be don'd like beggars' wrappings
(So that, indeed, 'twould be a feat
Worthy the poet-laureate,
Bob's namesake): and his holiness,
In imitative humbleness,

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On this most reverend mystery.
If you examine history,
The courtly Hume's, where he relates
Of 1688's
Most Dutch and glorious 'Revolution,'
King William and his Constitution,
And the 'Convention,' you will see
How Parliament right loyally

Confirm'd the Hollander's accession,
For having ratified their session.
It follows, as a thing of course,
As good things ever must grow worse
By alteration, that the code,
Even the horse King William rode,
Which our wise ancestors approved
Should by their sons be ne'er improved

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Throughout all time.—Bob heard no more
Until the party reach'd the door
Of Godstone Union poorhouse, where—
After the usual courtesies,
And introduction of the keys—
They were admitted to the care
Of the poorhouse king, a sort of human
Xyster:—May the Lord keep you, man,

And all who read this true relation,
Out of his sphere of operation!
Here man and wife were torn asunder:
God-join'd, but to be parted under
The 'regulations:' each one buried
From the other's wretchedness; both hurried
Into their lonely graves. For the rest,
Their treatment was not of the best.

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