HALF A LOAF IS BETTER THAN NO BREAD.
NA DIALOGUE BETWEEN JACK ANVIL AND TOM HOD.
TO THE TUNE OF "A COBBLER THERE WAS." ·
Written in Ninety-five, a Year of Scarcity and Alarm.
"COME, neighbors, no longer be patient and quiet, Come, let us go kick up a bit of a riot;
I'm hungry, my lads, but I've little to eat,
So we'll pull down the mills, and we'll seize all the meat : I'll give you good sport, boys, as ever you saw ;
So a fig for the justice, a fig for the law.
Then his pitchfork Tom seized.-"Hold a moment," says
"I'll show thee thy blunder, brave boy, in a crack.
And if I don't prove we had better be still,
I'll assist thee straightway to pull down every mill;
I'll show thee how passion thy reason does cheat,
Or I'll join thee in plunder for bread and for meat.
Derry down.
"What a whimsey to think thus our bellies to fill!
For we stop all the grinding by breaking the mill !
What a whimsey to think we shall get more to eat
By abusing the butchers who get us the meat!
What a whimsey to think we shall mend our spare diet
By breeding disturbance, by murder and riot'
Derry down.
"Because I am dry, 'twould be foolish, I think,
To pull out my tap, and to spill all my drink;
Because I am hungry and want to be fed,
That is sure no wise reason for wasting my bread :
And just such wise reasons for mending their diet
Are used by those blockheads who rush into riot.
Derry down
"I would not take comfort from others' distresses,
But still I would mark how God our land blesses;
For though in Old England the times are but sad,
Abroad, I am told, they are ten times as bad;
In the land of the pope there is scarce any grain,
And 'tis worse still, they say, both in Holland and Spain.
Derry down.
"Let us look to the harvest our wants to beguile;
See the lands with rich crops how they every where smile!
Meantime to assist us, by each western breeze,
Some corn is brought daily across the salt seas.
Of tea we'll drink little, of gin none at all,
And we'll patiently wait, and the prices will fall.
"But if we're not quiet, then let us not wonder
If things grow much worse by our riot and plunder;
And let us remember, whenever we meet,
The more ale we drink, boys, the less we shall eat.
On those days spent in riot, no bread you brought home;
Had you spent them in labor, you must have had some.
Derry down.
"A dinner of herbs,' says the wise man, 'with quiet,
Is better than beef amid discord and riot.'
If the thing could be helped, I'm a foe to all strife,
And I pray for a peace every night of my life;
But in matters of state not an inch will I budge,
Because I conceive I'm no very good judge.
"But though poor, I can work, my brave boy, with the best;
Let the king and the parliament manage the rest;
I lament both the war and the taxes together,
Though I verily think they don't alter the weather.
The king, as I take it, with very good reason,
May prevent a bad law, but can't help a bad season.
Derry down.
"The parliament men, although great is their power,
Yet they cannot contrive us a bit of a shower ;
And I never yet heard, though our rulers are wise,
That they know very well how to manage the skies;
For the best of them all, as they found to their cost,
Were not able to hinder last winter's hard frost.
Besides, I must share in the wants of the times, Because I have had my full share in its crimes: And I'm apt to believe the distress which is sent, Is to punish and cure us of all discontent. But harvest is coming-potatoes are come! Our prospect clears up; ye complainers, be dumb! Derry down. "And though I've no money, and though I've no lands, I've head on my shoulders, and a pair of good hands; So I'll work the whole day, and on Sundays I'll seek At church how to bear all the wants of the week. The gentlefolks too will afford us supplies; They'll subscribe—and they'll give up their puddings and pies.
"Then before I'm induced to take part in a riot,
I'll ask this short question- What shall I get by it?'
So I'll e'en wait a little, till cheaper the bread,
For a mittimus hangs o'er each rioter's head;
And when of two evils I'm asked which is best,
I'd rather be hungry than hanged, I protest.
Quoth Tom, "Thou art right; if I rise, I'm a Turk:" So he threw down his pitchfork, and went to his work.
HAVE you heard of a collier of honest renown,
Who dwelt on the borders of Newcastle town?
His name it was Joseph-you better may know
If I tell you he always was called Patient JOE.
Whatever betided, he thought it was right,
And Providence still he kept ever in sight;
To those who love God, let things turn as they would,
He was certain that all worked together for good.
He praised his Creator whatever befell;
How thankful was Joseph when matters went well!
How sincere were his carols of praise for good health,
And how grateful for any increase in his wealth!
In trouble he bowed him to God's holy will;
How contented was Joseph when matters went ill!
When rich and when poor, he alike understood,
That all things together were working for good.
If the land was afflicted with war, he declared,
"Twas a needful correction for sins which he shared:
And when merciful Heaven bade slaughter to cease,
How thankful was Joe for the blessing of peace!
When taxes ran high, and provisions were dear,
Still Joseph declared he had nothing to fear;
It was but a trial he well understood,
From Him who made all work together for good.
Though his wife was but sickly, his gettings but small,
Yet a mind so submissive prepared him for all;
He lived on his gains, were they greater or less,
And the Giver he ceased not each moment to bless.
When another child came, he received him with joy,
And Providence blessed, who had sent him the boy;
But when the child died, said poor Joe, "I'm content,
For God had a right to recall what he lent."
It was Joseph's ill fortune to work in a pit
With some who believed that profaneness was wit:
When disasters befell him, much pleasure they showed,
And laughed, and said, "Joseph, will this work for good?"
But ever when these would profanely advance,
That this happened by luck, and that happened by chance,
Still Joseph insisted no chance could be found;
Not a sparrow by accident falls to the ground.
Among his companions who worked in the pit,
And made him the butt of their profligate wit,
Was idle Tim Jenkins, who drank and who gamed,
Who mocked at his Bible, and was not ashamed.
One day at the pit his old comrades he found,
And they chatted, preparing to go under ground;
Tim Jenkins, as usual, was turning to jest
Joe's notion that all things which happened were best
As Joe on the ground had unthinkingly laid
His provision for dinner, of bacon and bread,
A dog, on the watch, seized the bread and the meat,
And off with his prey ran with footsteps so fleet.
Now to see the delight that Tim Jenkins expressed!
"Is the loss of thy dinner too, Joe, for the best?"
"No doubt on't," said Joe; "but as I must eat,
'Tis my duty to try to recover my meat."
So saying, he followed the dog a long round,
While Tim, laughing and swearing, went down under
ground.
Poor Joe soon returned, though his bacon was lost,
For the dog a good dinner had made at his cost.
When Joseph came back, he expected a sneer,
But the face of each collier spoke horror and fear;
"What a narrow escape hast thou had!" they all said;
"The pit is fallen in, and Tim Jenkins is dead!"
How sincere was the gratitude Joseph expressed!
How warm the compassion which glowed in his breast!
Thus events great and small, if aright understood,
Will be found to be working together for good.
"When my meat," Joseph cried, "was just now stolen away,
And I had no prospect of eating to-day,
How could it appear to a short-sighted sinner,
That my life would be saved by the loss of my dinner!"
Look through the land from north to south,
And look from east to west,
And see what is to Englishmen
Of life the deadliest pest.
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