Classic Poem

Why give to your Alfred the laurel of Fame,
When Wat Tyler deserves a much nobler name?
That Alfred, they say, made some good wholesome laws,
But Wat Tyler lost life in the Levelling Cause.
Sing Ballinamona, Oro, &c.
The Levelling System for me!

Shall Jack Cade be forgot when an hero I sing,
Who detests proud nobility, clergy and king?
We moderns such shameful Ingratitude spurn,
For we honour his dust, and his doctrines we learn.
Sing Ballinamora, Oro, &c.
Jack Cade and Wat Tyler for me!

Tom Paine, a republican wight of renown,
His right-foot on the Mitre, his left on the Crown!
Bellows out Revolution to ev'ry degree,
And shews us all (gratis) the way to be free.
Sing Ballinamona, Oro, &c.
A French Revolution for me!

Peers, pedlars, pickpockets to Tom are the same,
And princes and porters but differ in name;
Escutcheons, and coronets, sceptres of kings,
Are the gewgaws of Folly — contemptible things!
Sing Ballinamona, Oro, &c.
No herald's d — mn'd nonsense for me!

The new light philosophic their emptiness shews,
As baseless as bubbles that infancy blows!
Huzza for Confusion, Boys! pull down the Church,
Nor leave one steeple standing for jackdaws to perch!
Sing Ballinamona, Oro, &c.
Pull down all the churches for me!

The world has been ever bamboozel'd with straws,
So Tom utterly hates both Religion and Laws,
As irksome restraints to keep Villainy under,
Forbidding alike conflagration and plunder!
Sing Ballinamona, Oro, &c.
A grand conflagration for me!

All ye, then, my Lads, who have nothing to lose,
But who want a supply of coats, breeches, and shoes;
Whose labour fatigues ye, whose wages are small,
And whose lot is so low you can ne'er fear a fall .
Sing Ballinamona, Oro, &c.
Any change will be better for me!

Ye gamblers undone, whose trade's to undo,
At Tom's game throw a nick — or old Nick will throw you;
Ye men disappointed in worldly concern,
Forget all your sorrows and Levellers turn,
Sing Ballinamona, Oro, &c.
Civil discord is music to me!

Ye desperate felons, in dungeons confin'd,
Your fetters we'll break — for you're men to our mind;
Men bred to confusion, and bent to destroy,
Are, next to our writings, the means we employ.
Sing Ballinamona, Oro, &c.
Let loose all the felons for me!

Life with you is so bad, that confusion may mend it,
And if all things should fail ye — an halter can end it!
Ye poor ragged fellows, though low your estate,
Ye shall plunder the rich! and shall level the Great!
Sing Ballinamona, Oro, &c.
Some nice little pickings for me!

Take from bishops the crosier, from prebends the stall,
And kick out the lawyers from Westminster Hall;
Make priests and make barristers handle the plough,
For that's all the living the dogs shall get now.
Sing Ballinamona, Oro, &c.
Kick the priests and the lawyers for me!

In the world no distinction of rank shall be seen,
But a Billingsgate drab be a mate for a queen;
Dukes, dustmen, grooms, barons, in friendship shall meet,
And with porter and gin hiccough drunk through the street.
Sing Ballinamona, Oro, &c.
The world topsy turvy for me!

Of the wealth of mankind ye shall all seize a share,
And riot alike in the spoils of the Fair;
Princesses, fishmongers shall take to their arms,
And queens to tripesellers shall yield up their charms!
Sing Ballinamona, Oro, &c.
A pretty young princess for me!

From the bench shall be pluck'd off stern Justice's robe,
And the records of time be effaced from the globe!
All wisdom, all virtue, all courage are vain,
To oppose the new Doctrine of mighty Tom Paine!
Sing Ballinamona, Oro, &c.
Banish order and justice for me!

Let the Prophet of Discord your bosoms inspire,
And with Tom's Rights of Man set the world all on fire!
Go to it, my Boys! — go to it pell-mell —
Till the flames that ye kindle prepare ye for Hell!
Sing Ballinamona, Oro, &c.
You may go to the Devil for me!

Now honest John Bull take an hint from my song,
Nor think his doctrines right, whose intentions are wrong;
The cause of Old England with firmness maintain,
In spite of the Devil, the French , and Tom Paine!
Sing Ballinamono, Oro, &c.
No wolves in sheep's clothing for me!

Your fam'd Constitution for ages has stood,
Ador'd by your sires! and seal'd with their blood!
To your children, of right, 'tis a property due —
Bequeath it to them, as 'twas giv'n to you!
Sing Ballinamona, Oro, &c.
Church, King, Constitution for me!