Agricultural Distress. - A Pastoral Report Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis

Rhyme Scheme: AABBCCDDEEFFGG H IIJJKKLLMMGG L NNOOPPQQNNNNGG R BBSSLLTUVVWWXX G Y ZZA2A2B2B2C2C2D2D2E2 D2D2GG L XXMMF2F2MM G2G2SSMMZZLLNNMMB2B2 M L M H2H2MMI2I2M OOJ2J2MM M SSMMMMB2OI2I2XXMML MM L NNNNK2K2 L2L2M2M2MMMN2O2O2P2P 2XXZZ ZZLLKKBBXX L MM

One Sunday morning service doneA
'Mongst tombstones shining in the sunA
A knot of bumpkins stood to chatB
Of that and this and this and thatB
What people said of Polly HatchC
Which side had won the cricket matchC
And who was cotch'd and who was bowl'dD
How barley beans and 'taters soldD
What men could swallow at a mealE
When Bumpstead Youths would ring a pealE
And who was taken off to jailF
And where they brew'd the strongest aleF
At last this question they addressG
What's Agricultural DistressG
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HODGEH
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For my peart it's a thought o' mineI
It be the fancy farming lineI
Like yonder gemman him I meanJ
As took the Willa nigh the GreenJ
And turn'd his cattle in the wheatK
And gave his porkers hay to eatK
And sent his footman up to townL
To ax the Lonnon gentry downL
To be so kind as make his hayM
Exactly on St Swithin's dayM
With consequences you may guessG
That's Hagricultural DistressG
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DICKONL
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Last Monday morning Master BloggN
Com'd for to stick our bacon hogN
But th' hog he cock'd a knowing eyeO
As if he twigg'd the reason whyO
And dodg'd and dodg'd 'un such a danceP
He didn't give the noose a chanceP
So Master Blogg at last lays offQ
And shams a rattle at the troughQ
When swish in bolts our bacon hogN
Atwixt the legs o' Master BloggN
And flops him down in all the muckN
As hadn't been swept up by luckN
Now that accordin' to my guessG
Be Hagricultural DistressG
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GILESR
-
No that arn't it I tell 'ee flatB
I'ze bring a worser case nor thatB
Last Friday week I takes a startS
To Reading with our horse and cartS
Well when I'ze set the 'taters downL
I meets a crony at the CrownL
And what betwixt the ale and TomT
It's dark afore I starts for homeU
So whipping hard by long and lateV
At last we reaches nigh the gateV
And sure enough there Master standW
A lantern flaring in his handW
'Why Giles ' says he 'what's that 'un thearX
Yond' chestnut horse bean't my bay mearX
He bean't not worth a leg o' Bess '-
There's Hagricultural DistressG
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HOBY
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That's nothin yet to Tom's mishapZ
A gooing through the yard poor chapZ
Only to fetch his milking pailsA2
When up he shies like head or tailsA2
Nor would the Bull let Tom a beB2
Till he had toss'd the best o' threeB2
And there lies Tom with broken bonesC2
A surgeon's job for Doctor JonesC2
Well Doctor Jones lays down the lawD2
'There's two crackt ribs besides a jawD2
Eat well ' says he 'stuff out your caseE2
For that will keep the ribs in place '-
But how was Tom poor chap to chawD2
Seeing as how he'd broke his jawD2
That's summut to the pint yes yesG
That's Hagricultural DistressG
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SIMONL
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Well turn and turn about is fairX
Tom's bad enough and so's the mareX
But nothing to my load of hayM
You see 'twas hard on quarter dayM
And cash was wanted for the rentF2
So up to Lonnon I was sentF2
To sell as prime a load of hayM
As ever dried on summer's dayM
-
Well standing in Whitechapel RoadG2
A chap comes up to buy my loadG2
And looks and looks about the cartS
Pretending to be 'cute and smartS
But no great judge as people sayM
'Cause why he never smelt the hayM
Thinks I as he's a simple chapZ
He'll give a simple price mayhapZ
Such buyers comes but now and thenL
So slap I axes nine pun' tenL
'That's dear ' says he and pretty quickN
He taps his leathers with his stickN
'Suppose ' says he 'we wet our clayM
Just while we bargin 'bout the hayM
So in we goes my chap and meB2
He drinks to I and I to heB2
At last says I a little gayM
'It's time to talk about that hay '-
'Nine pund ' says he 'and I'm your manL
Live and let live for that's my plan '-
'That's true ' says I 'but still I sayM
It's nine pun' ten for that 'ere hay '-
And so we chaffers for a bitH2
At long and last the odds we splitH2
And off he sets to show the wayM
Where up a yard I leaves the hayM
Then from the pocket of his coatI2
He pulls a book and picks a noteI2
'That's Ten ' says he 'I hope to payM
Tens upon tens for loads of hay '-
'With all my heart and soon ' says IO
And feeling for the change therebyO
But all my shillings com'd to fiveJ2
Says he 'No matter man aliveJ2
There's something in your honest phizM
I'd trust if twice the sum it isM
You'll pay next time you come to town '-
'As sure ' says I 'as corn is brown '-
'All right ' says he Thinks I 'huzzaM
He's got no bargain of the hay '-
-
Well home I goes with empty cartS
Whipping the horses pretty smartS
And whistling ev'ry yard o' wayM
To think how well I'd sold the hayM
And just cotch'd Master at his greensM
And bacon or it might be beansM
Which didn't taste the worse surelyB2
To hear his hay had gone so highO
But lord when I laid down the noteI2
It stuck the victuals in his throatI2
And chok'd him till his face all grewX
Like pickling cabbage red and blueX
With such big goggle eyes Ods nailsM
They seem'd a coming out like snailsM
'A note ' says he half mad with passionL
'Why thou dom'd fool thou'st took a flash 'un '-
Now wasn't that a pretty messM
That's Hagricultural DistressM
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COLINL
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Phoo phoo You're nothing near the thingN
You only argy in a ringN
'Cause why You never cares to lookN
Like me in any larned bookN
But schollards know the wrong and rightK2
Of every thing in black and whiteK2
-
Well Farming that's its common nameL2
And Agriculture be the sameL2
So put your Farming first and nextM2
Distress and there you have your textM2
But here the question comes to pressM
What farming be and what's distressM
Why farming is to plough and sowM
Weed harrow harvest reap and mowN2
Thrash winnow sell and buy and breedO2
The proper stock to fat and feedO2
Distress is want and pain and griefP2
And sickness things as wants reliefP2
Thirst hunger age and cold severeX
In short ax any overseerX
Well now the logic for to chopZ
Where's the distress about a cropZ
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There's no distress in keeping sheepZ
I likes to see 'em frisk and leapZ
There's no distress in seeing swineL
Grow up to pork and bacon fineL
There's no distress in growing wheatK
And grass for men or beasts to eatK
And making of lean cattle fatB
There's no distress of course in thatB
Then what remains But one thing moreX
And that's the Farming of the PoorX
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HODGE DICKON GILES HOB AND SIMONL
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Yea aye surely for sartin yesM
That's Hagricultural DistressM

Thomas Hood



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