One cold winter’s morning as the day was dawning,
A voice came so hollow and shrill,
The cold winds did whistle, and snow fast was falling,
As a stranger came over the hill.
The clothing he was wearing, was tatter’d and torn,
He seemed all despairing and wand’ring forlorn,
Lamenting for pleasures that never will return,
Oh! old England what have you come to.

He said—oh, I sigh, for those hearts so undeserving,
On their own native land left to stray,
And in the midst of plenty some thousands are starving,
Neither house, food or clothing have they;
I am surrounded by poverty, and cannot find a friend,
My cottage it is sold from me, my joys are at an end,
So like a pilgrim my steps I onward bend,
Oh! old England what have you come to.

There was once a time I could find friends plenty,
To feed on my bounteous store,
But friends they are few, now my portion is scanty,
But Providence may open her door.
It nearly breaks my heart, when my cottage I behold,
It is claimed by a villain with plenty of gold,
And I passing bye and shiv’ring with cold,
Oh! old England what have you come to.

The Farmer and Comedian, now daily assemble,
And do try their exertion and skill.
But alas! after all on this land they do tremble,
For all trades are near standing still.
If the great God of War, now should quickly on us call,
I would break my chains so galling, and boldly face a ball,
For to see my babies starving, it grives me worse than all,
Oh! old England what have you come to.

There’s Manchester and Birmingham, alas, are fell to ruin,
In fact all the country is at a stand,
Our shipping lays in harbour, alas are nothing doing,
While our Tars are starving on the land;
’Twould break the hearts of monarchs bold, if they could rise again,
To view our desolation, would near distract their brain,
So pity a poor stranger, or death may ease my pain,
Oh! old England what have you come to.