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Source: London Labour and the London Poor Henry Mayhew (1861) Of the Experience of a Street Author, or PoetI was very fond of reading poems, in my youth, as soon as I could read and understand almost. Yes, very likely, sir; perhaps it was that put it into my head to write them afterwards. Above fourteen years ago I tried to make a shilling or two by selling my verses. The first song I ever sold was to a concert-room manager. The next I sold had great success. It was called the `Demon of the Sea,' and was to the tune of `The Brave Old Oak.' It began:
That song was written for a concert-room, but it was soon in the streets, and ran a whole winter. I got only 1s. for it. I'm very sorry indeed that I can't offer you copies of some of my ballads, but I haven't a single copy myself of any of them, not one, and I dare say I've written a thousand in my time, and most of them were printed. I believe 10,000 were sold of the `Husband's Dream.' It begins:
Then Dermot tells how he dreamed of his wife's sudden death, and his childrens' misery as they cried about her dead body, while he was drunk in bed, and as he calls out in his misery, he wakes, and finds his wife by his side. The ballad ends:
Dermot turned teetotaller. The teetotallers were very much pleased with that song. The printer once sent me 5s. on account of it. I have written all sorts of things. I've been asked to write indecent songs, but I refused. One man offered me 5s. for six such songs. - Why, that's less than the common price, said I, instead of something over to pay for the wickedness. - Live hard! yes, indeed, we do live hard. I hardly know the taste of meat. We live on bread and butter, and tea; no, not any fish. For the comings in, and what we have from the parish, must keep six of us - myself, my wife, and four children. It's a long, hard struggle. If ever I am rich enough to provide for a tomb-stone, or my family is rich enough to give me one, this shall be my epitaph:
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