No compulsion, not a mossel! Ah, my noble lords and gents
Who are up in arms for Libbaty—that is, of paying rents—
You've rum notions of Compulsion. NOCKY SPRIGGINS sez, sez 'e,
While you've got a chice of starving, or the workus, ain't ye free!
Free? O vus, we're free all round like; there ain't ne'er a bloomin' slave,
White or black, but wot is free enough—to pop into 'is grave;
Though if they ketch yer trying even that game, and yer fail,
Yer next skool for teaching freedom ain't the workus, but the jail!
'Andcuffs ain't the sole "Compulsion," nor yet laws ain't, nor yet whips;
There is sech things as 'unger, and yer starving kids' white lips,