16th April 1817: "The Last Gift of John Amos, to his Dear Children"

The Luddite John Amos, awaiting sentence of death the following day at Leicester, allegedly wrote this poem to his children into the Bible he had received from the Reverend Mitchell of Leicester, prior to his execution:

THE LAST GIFT OF JOHN AMOS,
TO HIS DEAR CHILDREN.

Oh! my dear children, when this you see,
Pray serve your God, and think on me!
I'm torn from you, to an untimely end,
But on the Lord I do depend!
To serve him truly is my delight,
And to find mercy, in his sight.
I hope, dear children, you will do the same, 

And when you read this, think of his name,
And serve him truly in his sight,
He is our Saviour and delight;
I hope in heaven to meet you there,
Then death’s alarms we need not fear.
Farewel, vain world, I have done with you;
I have a better world in view!
To meet my Saviour, Christ our Lord,
Who better joys can me afford!

24th December 1816: 'Song for the Luddites' by Lord Byron

On Tuesday 24th December 1816, Lord Byron was in Venice, Italy. In a long letter to his friend, the Irish poet Thomas Moore (which can be read in full here), he inserted a spontaneously-composed poem, which has been subsequently called "Song for the Luddites". The poem was unpublished during his lifetime.

... Are you not near the Luddites? By the Lord! If there's a row, but I'll be among ye! How go on the weavers—the breakers of frames—the Lutherans of politics—the reformers? 

As the Liberty lads o'er the sea
Bought their freedom, and cheaply, with blood,
So we, boys, we
Will die fighting, or live free,
And down with all kings but King Ludd! 

When the web that we weave is complete,
And the shuttle exchanged for the sword,
We will fling the winding-sheet
O'er the despot at our feet,
And dye it deep in the gore he has pour'd. 

Though black as his heart its hue,
Since his veins are corrupted to mud,
Yet this is the dew
Which the tree shall renew
Of Liberty, planted by Ludd! 

There's an amiable chanson for you—all impromptu. I have written it principally to shock your neighbour * * , who is all clergy and loyalty—mirth and innocence—milk and water...

7th December 1812: 'The Wranglers; or Who Shall Be a Favourite'

The Wranglers;
Or, WHO SHALL BE A FAVOURITE.

(A Friend of O'Connor and Despard.)
I HAVE done more than ye for my King,
Stand-off with your vain foolish fancies,
For I made all the City to ring—
With “B—r—tt”and the valiant “Sir Francis.”

(Ned Lud)
Yet away with you, uncle Sir Francis,
Pray what has Jack sixteen-string* done?
To break lace-frames you ne’er made advances,
Nor to blow the man's brains out for fun.

(Naseby)
Poh poh, ye’re insignificant sinners,
Compared with me—mighty great-man!
I am sure you will never be winners
Though I know that you will if you can.

For tho’, Frankly, my brother thou art,
And thou, Neddy, my darling, my child,
I declare you shall not have a part,
I'll not be of my honours beguil’d.

But here comes our King—hush and hear him,
Clear up the great point in dispute;
True worth he'll discern, I ne’er fear him,
He'll decide in my favour no doubt.

(King)
O yes—The great Naseby the mighty,
Shall be the head don in my court;
Bow down all ye “Broadbottomed”party,
And be present where’er he resort.

He has done the thing just as I'd have it,
He has formed right good subjects for me;
Infused discontentment, and hatred,
Made Jacobin slaves of the free.

His engine’s extensively useful
In promoting my cause upon earth,
I am sorry, True Blue† should afflict him,
With Toasts† to which virtue gave birth.

(aside)
But the worst, I foresee, is not come yet,
True Blue will not let things rest so,
He will not only with—but effect it,
That out of the Country you go.

I dread most—Blue’s proposing the question,
(“Shall we turn baneful Hermes quite out,
Discontinue this vile publication,
This Pelt to the country about”?

([Illegible])
Ah! poor fellow! I'll take pity on him,
He shall come with his “bairns” by his side;
He shall never want friends nor attendants,
Whilst a god o’er this world I preside.

*See Doublŭres of Characters, in the Anti-Jacobin Review; for October 1798.

††At these words poor Naseby fell into strong convulsion fits, and uttered, in a very incoherent manner, the following broken words, as near as could be collected —“Land”………..“the la…n..d”………“don't li…..ke it” “we live…v..ve iu”……“le….lea….leave it.”—When the Paroxism was a little over, he began to speak more intelligibly and addressing himself to his son he said; “Oh Ned Lud. Ned Lud!—our cause! Oh ‘tis nearly, nearly over—Oh ‘tis over—you will receive little countenance or support from the next p—rl—m—t—no B—r—hm, no R—m—ly, no T—ny there!! And your uncle Frank vows he will not so again unless they mend their manners.”

When some particular friends had wiped the “blood and gore” from his mouth and body, they found them as if they had been “hacked with a hand-saw.”

31st October 1812: Poem 'The Apparition or the Dæmon of Luddism to his Son'

THE APPARITION,

OR

The DÆMON of LUDDISM to his SON.

OH SON! oh Son! alack! alack!
What woeful days are come!
My children which thou rear’dſt so well,
Are forced to leave their home.

But oh! of all miſchievous things,
Write down the True Blue clubs;
For truth and virtue there will join,
To give us deadly rubs.

Thy cauſe and mine thou knoweſt full well,
Connected were and one,
But oh!—that Truth!—I hate its fight,
It ſhows our ugly form.

It makes me ſkulk, it makes thee wince,
It fills my mouth with foam,
Ne’er mind my lad—thy work is done,
Come to thy father home.

October 31, 1812.                    PEEP BOH.

8th August 1812: Poem 'Bella, horrida bella'

This poem appeared in the Saturday 8th August 1812 edition of the Leeds Mercury:

Bella, horrida bella.
VIDE GAZETTE.


How fast some little time ago,
Our spinning Jenny seem’d to go;
How buisy was the Loom!
Order resum’d her peaceful reign!
And LUDD, and all his sooty train,
Were swept away by BROOME.


But Peace and Plenty little weigh
With fighting men—like CASTLEREAGH:
And now our PREMIER’S plot is—
To quarrel with our old allies,
And very largely subsidize
A crew of BERNADOTTE’S!!


And now they’ll gull poor MISTER BULL,
And swear as purse is fill’d so full,
By war and by disaster—
That Heaps of Gold must fly like chaff
To One of—BONAPARTE’S STAFF,
Who’ll keep it for—his MASTER!!


But—Oh what news! To gain the CZAR!
To gain—another glorious war
Across the wide Atlantic!
Why! All these glories on his head,
With want of work and want of bread,
Will make poor JOHN quite frantic!

[Before] 23rd June 1812: Poem 'The Tintwistle Weavers Daughter'

The Tintwistle Weavers Daughter

There was a weavers daughter born
When loaves were big and cheap
Work was forbid on a Monday
Tho work enough for keep

His daughter grew pretty and fine
On meat and bread he'd bring
And bloomed the human face divine
Her light sweet voice would sing

But your debts and taxes want pay'd
Coined of the poor and dead
Your Orders and council kill trade
And weavers cry for bread

So bent the daughter to her fate
From work she did not cower
She beam'd the yarn from Manchester
And dress'd the warp with flour

She beams the yarn from Manchester
And dresses warp with flour
The shuttle flies from morn til night
And rests at a late hour

From morn til night she cannot cease
Her life is nowt but toil
She has not time for love or sport
Her blooming flowers spoil

Still your debts and taxes want pay'd
Coined of the poor and dead
Your Orders and French wars hurt trade
And weavers cry out for bread

She bends no more to her poor lot
A life of nowt but toil
Enriching the mighty and great
While her own flowers spoil

She cries aloud her heros name
Her Sherwood hero Ludd
Will set a stop to wars and steam
And wages as they stood

9th May 1812: Poem “Welcome Ned Ludd," Nottingham

This paper was posted up in Nottingham on Saturday Morning

May 9th 1812

Welcome Ned Ludd, your case is good,
Make Perceval your aim;
For by this Bill, ’tis understood
Its death to break a Frame—


With dexterous skill, the Hosier’s kill
For they are quite as bad;
And die you must, by the late Bill-
Go on my bonny lad!—


You might as well be hung for death
As breaking a machine-
So now my Lad, your sword unsheath
And make it sharp and keen—


We are ready now your cause to join
Whenever you may call;
So make foul blood, run clear & fine
Of Tyrants great and small!—

PS.- Deface this who dare
They shall have Tyrants fare
For Ned is every where
And can see and hear

24th April 1812: Thomas Large of the United Committee of Framework-knitters writes from Londons Large, Nottingham

[To] Thos Roper
Newtons Head
Nottingham

April 24, 1812

Sir

While we was writing to you the other day Mr Toplas was walking up Fleet street, near Temple bar, and was knocked down by the pole of a coach, as he was crossing the road, the horses trode upon his Breast and Leg—but we hope he will be able to attend to Business this afternoon, tho Henson has been to see how he is, and found him very very poorly, he cannot keep anything on his stomach, at present. In the mean time Henson (while I am writing this to you and to derby and Leicester and Godalming) has gone with two of the London Committee to the Hatten garden Magistrates Latham is gone to John Smith, and we are to have an interview with Mr Benson this afternoon. Mr Toplas thinks he can travel by water, we wish if you think it prudent, for you to have a general meeting of the Trade next Monday—and we will send you all the information we can by that time (Monday night) We have engaged the same Room, where the carpinter committee sat, when they brought on the late Trial on the sistem of colting. We have had an opportunity of speaking to them on the subject, they thought we possesed a fund on a permanent principle to answer any demand, at any time, and if that had been the case, would have Lent us two or three thousand pounds, (for there is £20,000 in the fund belonging that Trade) but When they understood our Trade kept no regular fund to support itself, Instead of Lending us money, Their noses underwent a Mechanical turn upwards, and each saluted the other with a significant stare, Ejaculating Lord bless us!!! what fools!!! they Richly deserve all they put! and ten times more !!! We always thought stockeners a sett of poor creatures! Fellows as wanting of spirit, as their pockets are of money, What would out Trade be, if we did not combine to gether? perhaps as poor as you are, at this day, Look at other Trades! they all combine, (the Spitalfeild weavers exepted, and what a Miserable condition are they in) see the Tailers, shoemakers, Bookbinders, Gold bearers, printers, Bricklayers, Coatmakers, Hatters Curriers, Masons, whitesmiths, none of these trades Receive Less than 30s/- a week, and from that to five guineas this is all done by combination, without it their Trades would be as bad as yours, even govt. cannot precent bad articles, if your hands are such fools to make them, these are the yours arguments made use of by persons who know nothing of our Trade - how far they are right I believe you can Judge

heris is a shopman, Romanis cheapside, has got such tales about Ned Ludd, stuck in is window, and two stocking frames at work close to the shop door a large drawer full of guineas, half guineas, and seven shilling pieces in the window, all to attract notice, and he sells the damed’ist Rubbish of Framework, goods we ever saw in our Lives, he’s got Long armed Cotton gloves, selvages, marked to sell at sixpence per pair, single press, cut up, &c, shot down at his door, And shoveled in, the same as you shovel in coals at Nottm., his window is also full of songs about the amazing cheapness of his goods considering the price of Labour &c—

His mash, he sells for silk, and single press
For What it should be made, or rather Less,
And tells the Town, that he alone has gotton
Brown stockings, made of real india cotton
But when we Eyed them, soon we did disern
His india cotton, nought but single yarn
And others silks, this Roman doth declare
Are not his weight, by half an ounce a pair
Tho—what we saw, we viewed the window round
Would take full twenty pair to weight a pound
His pantaloons, what he calls double milled
A pound a pair, with twits, and burs and filld
And cotton Gloves, Long arms and Seemly fair
Hang in his window, marked sixpence a pair
Thus is this Villain, trading in the Trash
That was the cause of many a dreadful Smash
We hear he’s Likely, soon to be in the fleet
Pray god almighty send, that we may see it
Before we Leave this Town, for well we know
Goods Like his, has filld our Trade with Woe.

you will have the goodness to smiths anser to the circular Letter, and all the things that have been wrote for before, we shall write again to morrow

yours

Thos Large.

Mr. Fryers Tailer No 10 Leigh Street
red Lyon Square London
Give my Wife 12 shillings
Large

[Late] April 1812: Poem titled "Well Done Ned Lud", Nottinghamshire

Well dn, Ned Lud, your cause is good,
Mk Perceval your aim,
By the late Bill ’tis understood,
’Tis death to break a fram.

With dextrs skll the Hosiers kill,
For they are quite as bad,
To die you must by the late bill,
Go on my bonny lad

You may as well be hangd, for death
As brkng a machine,
So now my lad, your sword unsheath,
And make it sharp and keen.

We’re ready nw your gause to join,
Whenever you may call,
To make foul blood run fair and fine,
Of tyrants grt and small.

P.S. Deface this who dare,
Shall have tyrants fare,
For Ned’s Every where,
To both see and hear.

An enemie to Tyrants

8th April 1812: Thomas Large of the United Committee of Framework-knitters writes to Nottingham

Thomas Large of the United Committee of Framework-knitters was continuing their campaign to petition Parliament, and had visited Leicester to solicit the support of Framework-knitters there:

Thos Latham
Sir Isaac Newtons
Glasshouse Lane
Nottm

April 8 1812
Leicester

Gent

This place is a thousand times Worse, than we expected to find it, there is not half a dozen good fellows in the Town those principally are composed of Sherwood Lads – If i had not been assisted by a fellow prentice, and some of his acquaintence we should never have got a meeting, and even then, I was compelled to pay the cryer, out of my pocket, the meeting did not exeed 100 men—there is 2300 frames in town. With much persuasion we raised a committee, they promise to do their best, and damned all the rest,—They have met this morning, and seem much heartyer in the Business, than Last Night. They can’t promise much money, but will do what they can for us. The Committee give us such a bad account of Hinkly, we think it prudent not to throw away time and expence after it, so have Resolved to Return by Sileby, Sison, Mountsorrel &c for we are told, they have £50 Left as a fund, Remaing at the Conclusion of the charter concern.

if we get but £45 of this fifty It will be better than nothing,—we also understand by a person just arrived from Melbourn, they are Surprised at not hearing from us, for the Letters We sent, have not been made public, And they wish to Contribute their mite to ours

Of all the places e’er my Eyes did see
Oh! Leicester, Leicester, none e’er equaled thee
They can’t step forward, don’t possess the means
Slaves in every sense, even Beans
Once their food, and filld the Lads with courage
Are Substituted by bad water portage
Here sock, and sandals, cut from top to Bottom
I’ll bring a sample, for by GOD! I've got ’em

Your fellow labourer and friend

Thos Large.

11th March 1812: Poem by “A Poor Stockinger."

Poetry

The Stockinger lately so blest,
His household so comely and gay,
Contentment each night gave him rest,
How cheerful he work’d through the day;
His earnings commanded respect,
To church and to market he went;
The landlord’s accounts made correct,
He bow’d on receiving his rent.

But now we are dwelling with woe,
O, could I my fears but surmount;
The consequence who can foreknow?
Or suffering who can recount?
The warehouses still want demand,
The frames lie to rust on each floor;
The workman has “nothing in hand,”
The traddle he cannot tread more.

YE POWERS, who govern events,
Your Orders in Council we feel;
Humanity surely laments,
Who call’d for the hemp or the steel?
When INDUSTRY fails of support,
From home takes the poor-house in view,
And drove to the dernier resort,
Disorders may doubtless ensue.

YE SAGES our living to save,
Your joint mediation afford;
The thanks of the PUBLIC you’ll have,
Whil’st conscience presides at your board;
Consent, your arrangement may meet,
Success may the soldiers withdraw,
Whil’st angels your kindness shall greet,
For “order was heaven’s first law.”

YE AUTHORITIES, grant us your care,
O, exercise gently your rod;
Distress on distresses to spare,
Is worthy a KING or a GOD:
Ye BRITONS at large through the land,
REPENT, and your war-whoop give o’er;
That rapine no more may withstand
The peace and content of the poor.

Monopoly upheld by war,
The breath of sweet PEACE will destroy;
The PLENTY shall soon re-appear,
And COMMERCE give labour employ:—
BRITTANIA still Peace can command,
In arts or in arms-great are WE:
Can make all the WORLD understand
That BRITONS ARE BORN TO BE FREE.

Nottingham, March 11, 1812. A POOR STOCKINGER.

6th March 1812: Poem "Industry Distressed" from the Nottingham Review

INDUSTRY DISTRESSED.

A TRUE TALE.

How chang’d are the times! I've oft seen the day
Of Christmas approach, free from frowns;
My creditor’s bills with ease I could pay,
With guineas, or shillings, or crowns!

Nor was the term, Bankers, in our village known,
To mean more than hedger or ditcher,
That work’d on the margin of fields that were sown,
Whilst his wife to the well took the pitcher.

But fine flourish’d paper has ‘minished our coin,
And rais’d our banks without fences;
And knaves with their rag-money often combine,
Enough to distract a man’s senses.

By frugal industry, I have made it my care
To provide for the winter of age;
But unwarily caught in the bankruptcy snare,
Nought now can my sorrow assuage.

My barrels that used to be stor’d with GOOD ALE,
And wine which the elder produc’d,
Are worm-eat, and rotten, and not fit for sale,
Having many years never been used.

And useless the stone, where the pig lay in pork,
While others remain’d in the sty;
Not here we as once the carol or joke,
When say round are large Christmas pye.

No more my old consort nor I meet the smile,
This season was want to produce;
Nor share in those visits which time so beguile,
Such visits being now out of use.

Not a vestige remains of my once happy lot,
The workhouse my refuge must be;
Must quit with reluctance my beautiful cot,
So dear to my partner and me.

That cot, where my ancestors liv’d in repute,
The spot where I drew my first breath;
Such heartrending thoughts, so sever and acute,
A period will soon have in death.

But what makes my misery fully complete,
My frame by NED LUDD has been broke;
Release from these troubles, kind death I intreat,
But vainly thine aid I invoke.

But, hush! all rash thoughts which troubles create,
I'll bow to adversity’s rod;
With humble submission I'll yield to my fate,
And happiness seek in my GOD.

2nd March 1812: Poem by Lord Byron. “An Ode to the Framers of the Frame Bill.” London and Nottingham

AN ODE

TO THE FRAMERS OF THE FRAME BILL

Oh! well done Lord El—n! and better done R—er!
Britannia must prosper with Counsels like yours;
Hawkesbury, Harrowby, helps you to guide her,
Whose remedy only must kill ere it cures!

Those villains, the Weavers, are all grown refractory,
Asking some succour for charity’s sake;
So hang them in clusters, round each Manufactory,
That will at once put an end to mistake.*

The rascals, perhaps, may betake them to robbing,
The dogs to be sure have got nothing to eat-
So if we can hang them for breaking a bobbin,
’Twill save all the Government’s money and meat.

Men are more easily made than Machinery,
Stockings will fetch higher than lives;
Gibbets on Sherwood will heighten the scenery,
Shewing how Commerce, how Liberty thrives.

Justice is now in pursuit of the wretches,
Grenadiers, Volunteers, Bow-Street Police,
Twenty-two regiments, a score of Jack Ketches,
Three of the Quorum, and two of the Peace.

Some Lords to be sure, would have summon’d the Judges,
To take their opinion, but that they ne’er shall;
For Liverpool such a concession begrudges,
So now they’re condemned by no judges at all.

Some folks for certain have thought it was shocking,
When famine appeals, and when poverty groans;
That life should be valued at less than a stocking,
And breaking of frames, lead to breaking of bones.

If it should prove so, I trust by this token,
(And who will refuse to partake in the hope,)
That the —— of the fools, may be first to be broken,
Who when ask’d for a remedy, sent down a rope.

* Lord L——— on Thursday night said, the Riots at Nottingham arose from a Mistake

This poem was published anonymously in the Morning Chronicle of 2nd March 1812, and also the Nottingham Review of 6th March 1812.