Fiscal Ballads

PREFERENTIAL TREATMENT

 
We was always a hintimate family,
An' we doted on one another;
I was genuine fond o' my Uncle Fred,
And o' Cousin Jim I've a-often said
'E was more like my own born brother;
An' a feeling of 'earty affection I 'ad
For Kate, wot 'ad married my eldest lad.
 
 
Now, my Uncle Fred keeps the 'Dumpshire Arms,'
An' Jim's in the grocery trade;
While Kate 'as a little front-window shop,
Where she sells stone-bottles o' ginger-pop
An' sweets as is all 'ome-made;
And I earns enough for my board an' booze,
A-makin' an' mendin' o' boots an' shoes.
 
 
Last winter it were, when times was bad,
That Jim 'ad a 'appy thought;
'Ow fine it'd be if we'd all agree
On a kind of a mutual trade, sez 'e,
For our things as we sold an' bought;
We'd 'elp one another (which sounded nice),
An' be getting our goods at a lower price.
 
 
I'd tinker the boots o' the family cheap,
An' get 'ome on my uncle's beer,
Nor I wouldn't be 'avin' to strain my means
A-buying expensive pertaters an' greens
Orf o' Cousin Jim, no fear!
An' for luxuries, such as the missus eats,
I could get 'em 'alf-price orf o' Katie's sweets.
 
 
But it didn't work. For my Uncle Fred
'E treated me crool unfair;
I sold 'im some shoes, starvation price,
But I 'adn't a-tasted 'is beer but twice
When 'e said as I'd drunk my share!
Then I mended a couple o' pairs o' Kate's —
But sweets is a thing as the missus 'ates.
 
 
Tho' for Cousin Jimmy I took an' made
A set o' new 'eels and soles,
I was paying for greens at a 'igher rate
Than 'e charged to my Uncle Fred, or to Kate,
An' 'is cheeses was full of 'oles!
('E was getting 'is liquor 'alf-price, no doubt,
While I 'ad to bally well go without!)
 
 
Now, I 'aven't spoke to my Uncle Fred
For nigh on six months or more,
An' I've ceased to 'ave dealings with Cousin Jim
(For at 'eart I'd a-often suspected 'im),
An' I never won't darken 'is door;
An' I've 'ad quite enough o' that rubbish o' Kate's,
Wot was always the kind of a woman I 'ates.
 
 
Yes, family ties is a splendid thing
If it's sentiment keeps 'em there;
When it comes to a question o' gold and gain,
They turns at once to a hirksome chain,
Such as nobody wants to wear;
When matters of money appears on the floor,
Them family feelings walks out at the door!
 
 
If England's a-going to 'aggle an' fight
For Colonial Preference,
If the love of 'er sons for the Motherland
Is a kind of a feeling as only can stand
On a basis o' shillings an' pence,
That sort o' foundation won't last overlong,
An' there's something, I lay, must be 'opelessly wrong.
 
 
When the Colonies 'eld out their 'ands to us,
It wasn't for British gold;
But who 'll vouch for the love o' the Britisher-born,
When 'e bargains 'is honour for tariffs on corn,
An' 'is loyalty's bartered an' sold?
(A 'appy 'armonious fam'ly we'll make,
A-arguing who shall 'ave most o' the cake!)
 
 
We shall 'ave them Australian Governments
A-striking for better terms,
An' there's sure to be plenty o' grumbling when
The Canadian manufacturing men
Is competing wi' Henglish firms;
An' each separate part o' the Hempire 'll feel
As the others is 'aving the best o' the deal.
 
 
From which, if you follows my meaning through,
There's a obvious moral to draw:
Let's consider the Motherland's future, afore
We allows 'er to risk being Mother no more,
An' becoming the Mother-in-law!
For if loyalty's paid for, it ain't worth a thought,
An' affection's a fraud if it 'as to be bought.
 

BRITISH TRADE

 
Oh, why was I born a English lad,
In a island all shut in by sea?
Wot a much better chance I might 'ave 'ad
If I'd only been 'made in Germanee'!
Oh, why was I thus unwilling 'urled
On the blooming 'dust-'eap o' the world.'
 
 
No doubt as the German artisan
Don't get very much in the matter o' pay;
But 'e works on the seven-days-weekly plan,
With a haverage thirteen hours a day.
An' 'e 'asn't no time for to sit an' think,
Nor money enough to take to drink!
 
 
Then give me a permanent German job,
With nothink at all but work to do;
With weekly wages o' sixteen bob,
For to keep myself an' the missus too;
A-makin' them gimcrack German toys
For poor little English gals an' boys.
 
 
To my London 'ome I'll say good-bye,
For I 'asn't no use for a open port,
Where the workin' wage is a deal too 'igh,
An' the workin' hours is far too short;
Where a workin'-man 'as time to sleep,
An' food's to be 'ad so rotten cheap.
 
 
A German factory's more my taste,
With none o' them lazy English ways,
Where there ain't no money or time to waste
On ridic'lous 'beanos' an' 'olidays;
An' the workin' classes can just contrive
To earn sufficient to keep alive.
 
 
When I slaves all day at a German trade,
A-makin' them goods as they dumps down 'ere,
When I'm overworked an' I'm underpaid,
Till I feels as weak as that German beer,
I'll think o' my English 'ome maybe,
Where everythink (but the drinks) is free!
 
 
When I gets back 'ome of a Sunday night,
With a supper o' nice black bread to eat,
I'll 'ave such a 'ealthy appetite,
I never won't need no butcher's meat;
For 'unger, o' course, is the finest sauce,
When you're swollerin' sausages made of 'orse!
 
 
An' I begs to state, when I comes 'ome late,
With a 'ungry kind of a look in my eye,
If I 'as to wait, with a hempty plate,
Till the blooming cat's-meat-man comes by,
I'll think wi' scorn o' the old 'dust-'eap,'
Where mutton an' beef's to be bought so cheap.
 
 
For we don't know nothink o' 'orse-flesh 'ere,
But Joe 'e'll learn us to eat it, when
'Is tariff makes British meat too dear
For the pockets o' British workin' men;
An' they're 'aving their Little Marys lined
With a diet o' maize an' bacon rind!
 
 
When the price goes up of our meat and bread,
By a grand Imperial scheme o' Joe's,
We'll get cheap sugar and tea instead,
An' we'll buy no food orf o' Britain's foes;
For we'll 'ave no need o' the furriner's crops
When we're living on sweets washed down wi' slops!
 
 
There's lessons to learn from German trade,