Daily National Intelligencer

FROM THE GALLIA (OHIO) GAZETTE

DREADFUL HARD TIMES

Yesterday I walk'd down to that part of the town,
Where people collect, at the sign of the Tun,
To discuss and debate the great matters of state,
And show how the things that go wrong should be done.
There was ragged Sam Kent, who is not worth a cent,
There was idle Dick Lawless, and noisy Jack Grimes,
And swaggering Jim Bell, who has nothing to sell,
All cursing the banks and these dreadful hard times.
There was old daddy Slop, who has lost his last crop
By neglecting to mend up some gaps in the fence;
There was shabby Ned Thorn, who had planted his corn,
But had never put hoe, no, nor plough to it since:
There was dashing Bill Sutton, with a fine dandy coat on,
Who was ne'er out of debt, nor was worth twenty dimes:
They, too, joined the throng, and still kept up the song—
A curse on the banks and these dreadful hard times.
Next came in Dick Short, who was summoned to court
For some hundreds of half pints of whiskey and rum ;
He had brought the last sack of his grain on his back,
Though his children were crying with hunger at home ;
Here, landlord, said Short, come bring me a quart,
I must treat these my friends, sir, and merry Jack Grimes;
I've the corn, sir, to pay, there's no booking to-day:
Then he fell to cursing the banks and hard times.
Next came in Tom Sargent, who lately turned merchant,
And bought a full store, I can hardly tell how ;
But this much I know, about twelvemonth ago,
That the constable sold at the post his last cow;
Yet Tom dash'd away, spending hundreds each day,
Till the merchants brought suits for their dry goods and wines;
So Tom join'd the throng and assisted the song
With a curse on these banks and these dreadful hard times.
Next appeared Madam Pride, (and beau at her side,)
With her silks, spread with lace, quite down to her trail;
Her husband that day, unable to pay
For the dress she then wore, had been locked up in jail ;
She turned to the throng, as she tripp'd it along,
And she hop'd that the merchants would swing for such crimes
As to make people pay their old debts in this way ;
And she curs'd all the banks and these dreadful hard times.
Now, said I, Mr. Short, you are summoned to court,
And must soon go to jail for these long whiskey scores;
And you, Mr. Drew, aye, and you, sir, and you,
Who are hanging round taverns, and running to stores;
And you, Madam Pride, must your silks lay aside;
And you, Mr. Idle, and you, Mr. Grimes,
Must all to your labors, like some of your neighbors,
And you'll soon put an end to these dreadful hard times.