Prophecy Prophecy for 1850————
John Harkness, Printer, Church St.;—Office, North Road, Preston.
Now Christmas it is gone and past, throughout the British nation,
Come list to me and you will see a wonderful alteration;
In the new year there will appear, or I may cause a blunder,
Some curious changes that will fill you with amaze and wonder.
CHORUS.
So listen to me of all degree, both single, wise, and thrifty,
While I prophecy what you will see, in eighteen hundred and fifty.
The Queen will have another son, he will be a steam-loom weaver,
And Prince Albert he is going to be a wopping big coal-heaver;
Old Wellington as I’ve heard say, with his great whacking nose, sir,
With a donkey cart is going out a gathering old clothes, sir.
Russell and Grey, as I’ve heard say, are going to be sailors,
And Bobby Peel will make, of steel, new thimbles for the tailors;
Cobden and Bright will have a fight, and conquer in dirch man,
Without protection, in a crack, knock down the Duke of Richmond.
The muck carts they will go by steam, no horses will be wanted,
We will have four pound loaves for threepence each, then we shall be undaunted,
Girls must new fashioned whiskers wear, fine lawns they must adorn her,
Their stockings must be made of gold brought home from California.
All females over seventeen, that out of doors are flocking,
Will sadly rue if there should be, a hole seen in their stocking,
Either in the leg or heel, the law to nothing flinches,
Each bustle must be stuffed with straw full nine feet eleven inches.
And very soon, in May or June, we will be amaz’d with wonder,
For it will either rain or freeze, with heavy claps of thunder,
The free hall is going to fall, believe me it’s no fable,
And legs of mutton from the clouds will fall upon the table.
No little boys must smoke cigars, nor yet be seen a courting,
Male and female under twenty-two, must not be seen a flirting,
Any factory lass that has a child until she is married really,
Must serve twelve months in ———— or else in the New Bailey.
If any landlord call for rent upon a Monday morning,
His tenants shall be authorised without a moment’s warning
To strip him naked to the skin in any sort of weather,
Daub him with tar from head to foot, and cover him with feathers.
And Scotchmen, too, mark what I say, you may roll in soot and cinders,
And after that take him up stairs, and throw him through the windows,
They will take the duty off the gin, and clap it on the mussels,
And lay an extra shilling on the gutta-percha bustles.
The old women they will dance with glee, and if I’m not mistaken,
They will take the duty off the tea, the sugar, and the bacon;
Morning and night they’ll have fat cakes, the frying pans will flourish,
With mutton chops and good beef steaks, their stomachs for to nourish.