From the black sea they will send us more,
The millers and farmers will look blue,
They’ll not know which way for to do;
I hope that trade may flourish once more,
Upon this our native shore,
Then the working man will be right glad
To see his children well cloth’d and fed.
The maltsters and brewers they stamp and swear,
With sugar and treacle must brew their beer,
For all the malt that they do use,