(Or others like them) Famine ne’er shall reign.
[They disappear.
John.—
Where are they? Gone! No matter; I’m at rest,
Though cat’racts may destroy potatoes’ eyes—
Though years may come and bring no ears of corn—
Though meat may rise as high as Green’s balloon—
Still, whilst our brave cooks can make all ends meat,
No famine e’er shall harm us.
Chorus from “Macbeth,” “We Fry by Night.”