The Hungry Forties Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis

Rhyme Scheme: ABAB CDCD EFGH IJIJ KLML LLLL DNDO LPLP DKDK DLDL PPPP LQLQ LRLR

Thou wants my vote young man wi' t' carpet bagsA
Weel sit thee down an' hark what I've to sayB
It's noan so varry oft wer kitchen flagsA
Are mucked by real live lords down Yelland wayB
-
I've read thy speyks i' t' paper of a neetC
Thou lets a vast o' words flow off thy tongueD
Thou's gotten facts an' figures plain as t' leetC
An' argiments to slocken owd an' youngD
-
But what are facts an' figures 'side o' truthsE
We've bowt wi' childer' tears an' brokken livesF
An' what are argiments o' cockered youthsG
To set agean yon groans o' caitiff wivesH
-
'Twere hungry forties when I were a ladI
An' fowks were clemmed an' weak i' t' airm an' brainJ
We lived on demick'd taties bread gone sadI
An' wakkened up o' neets croodled wi' painJ
-
When t' quartern loaf were raised to one and fourK
We'd watter brewis swedes stown out o' t' fieldL
Farmers were t' landlords' jackals an' us poorM
Tewed in Egyptian bondage unrepealedL
-
I mind them times when lads marched down our streetL
Wi' penny loaves on pikes all steeped i' blooidL
It's breead or blooid they cried We've nowt to eatL
To Hell wi' all that taxes t' people's fooidL
-
There was a papist duke that com alengD
Wi' curry powders an' he telled our bossN
That when fowk's bellies felt pination's tengD
For breead yon stinkin' powders they mun sossO
-
I went to wark when I were eight yeer owdL
I tended galloways an' sammed up coilsP
'Twere warm i' t' pit aboon 't were despert cowdL
An' clothes were nobbut spetches darns an' hoilsP
-
Thro' six to eight I worked then two mile walkD
Across yon sumpy fields to t' kitchen doorK
I've often fainted face as white as chalkD
Then fall'n lang length upon wer cobble floorK
-
My mother addled seven and six a weekD
Slavin' all t' day at Akeroyd's weyvin' shedL
Fayther at t' grunstone wrowt while he fell sickD
Steel filin's gate intul his lungs he saidL
-
I come thee then no thank for all thy speyksP
Thou might as weel have spared thisen thy painsP
I see no call to laik at ducks an' drakesP
Wi' t' bitter truth that's burnt intul our brainsP
-
Corn laws be damned said dad i' forty eightL
Corn laws be damned say I i' nineteen fiveQ
Tariff reform choose how will have to waitL
Down Yelland way so lang as I'm aliveQ
-
If thou an' thine sud tax us workers' fooidL
An' thrust us back in our owd miseryR
May t' tears o' our deead childer thin thy blooidL
An' t' curse o' t' hungry forties leet on theeR

Frederic William Moorman



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About The Hungry Forties

The Hungry Forties is a poem by Frederic William Moorman. This page includes the poem text, poet information, related topics, comments, and similar poems.



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