Each way they can to crush the poor,
And bring them to the workhouse door,
By stopping Sunday trading.
I’m sure it is a lying sin,
It’s no harm to say, bad luck to him,—
He might as well try to stop our wind,
As to stop all Sunday trading.
Oh! Chelmsford, you use the poor man ill,
Starve us all, I’m sure you will,
If they should pass your infamous Bill,