Manchester’s an Altered Town. Altered Town
Once on a time this good old town was nothing but a village,
Of husbandry, and farmers too, whose time was spent in tillage;
But things are altered very much, such building now allotted is,
It rivals far and soon will leave behind the great Metropolis.
O dear O, Manchester’s an altered town, O dear O.
Once on a time were you inclin’d, your weary limbs to lave, sir,
In summer’s scorching heat in the Irwell’s cooling wave, sir;
You had only got to go to the Old Church for the shore, sir,
But since those days the fish have died, and now they are no more, sir.
When things do change you ne’er do know what next is sure to follow,
For mark the change in Broughton now, of late ’twas but a hollow
For they have found it so snug, and chang’d its etymology,
They have clapt in it a wild beast’s show, now call’d the Gardens of Zoology.
A market on Shudehill was, and it remains there still, sir,
The Salford old bridge is taken away, and clapt a new one in, sir,
There’s Newton lane I now shall name, has had an alteration,
They’ve knock’d a great part of it down, to make a railway station.
There’s the Bolton railway station in Salford, give attention,
Besides many more too numerous to mention;
Besides a new Police, to put the old ones down stairs, sir,
A mayor and corporation to govern this old town, sir.
There’s the Manchester and Salford old bridge, that long has stood, the weather,
Because it was so very old they drown’d it altogether;
And Brown street market too, it forms part of this sonnet,
Down it must come, they say, to build a borough gaol upon it.
Not long ago if you had taken a walk thro’ Stevenson’s square, sir,
You might have seen, if you look’d, a kind of chapel there, sir,
And yet this place, some people thought, had better to come down, sir,
And in the parson’s place they put a pantaloon and clown, sir.
In former times our cotton swells were not half so mighty found, sir,
But in these modern times they everywhere abound, sir,
With now police and watchmen, to break peace there’s none dare
And at every step the ladies go, policemen will cry, move on there’.
In former days this good old town was guarded from the prigs, sir,
By day constables, by night by watchmen with Welsh wigs, sir;
But things are alter’d very much, for all those who are scholars,
May tell the new policemen by their numbers on their collars.