Or a hundred voices would raise
John Barley-corn, my Joe, John!
When we were first acquaint!
but never got beyond the first two lines, either because they were howled down or they knew no more of the words. The Peelites answered with their mournful,
Child, is thy father dead?
Father is gone!
Why did they tax his bread?
God’s will be done!
or with the quicker,
Oh, landlords’ devil take
Thy own elect I pray!