Classic Poem

Two hundred men and eighteen killed
For want of a second door!
Ay, for with two doors, each ton coal
Had cost one penny more.

And what is it else makes England great,
At home, by land, by sea,
But her cheap coal, and eye's tail tumed
Toward strict economy?

But if a slate falls off the roof
And kills a passer-by,
Or if a doctor's dose too strong
Makes some half-dead man die.

We have coroners and deodands
And inquests, to no end,
And every honest Englishman's
The hapless sufferer's friend.

And householder's or doctor's toe,
For he has nought to lose,
And fain will, if he can, keep out
Of that poor dead man's shoes.

But if of twice a hundred men,
And eighteen more, the breath
Is stopped at once in a coal pit,
It's quite a natural death;

For, God be praised! the chance is small
That either you or!
Should come, for want of a second door,
In a coal pit to die.

Besides, 'twould cost a thousand times
As much, or something more,
To make to every pit of coal
A second, or safety door,

As all the shrouds and coffins cost
For those who perish now
For want of a second door, and that's
No trifle you'll allow;

And trade must live, though now and then
A man or two may die:
So merry sing God bless the Queen,
And long live you and I;

And, Jenny, let each widow have
A cup of congo strong,
And every orphan half a cup,
And so I end my song,

With prayer to God to keep coal cheap,
Both cheap and plenty too,
And if the pit's a whole mile deep,
What is it to me or you?

For though we're mortal too, no doubt,
And Death for us his scythe
Has ready still, the chance is small
We ever die of stithe.

And if we do, our gracious Queen
Will, sure, a telegram send,
To say how sore she grieves for us
And our untimely end;

And out of her own privy purse
A sovereign down will pay,
To have us decently interred
And put out of the way;

And burial service shall for us
In the churchyard be read,
And more bells rung and more hymns sung
Than if we had died in bed:

For such an accident as this
May never occur again,
And till it does, one door's enough
For pumps, air, coal, and men;

And should it occur—which God forbid!—
And stifle every soul,
Remember well, good Christians all,
Not one whit worse the coal.