On October 10, 1800, a group of whigs and radicals met in the Shakespeare Tavern to celebrate the anniversary of the first election of Charles James Fox for the city of Westminster. But there was little to be festive about. The speeches, toasts, and songs betrayed a sense of despair tinged with nostalgia. Fox and the Lord Mayor, Thomas Erskine and Lord Bessborough, all toasted “the Memory of the Liberty of the Press” and joined in a song, written for the occasion, which reflected the general disillusionment:HOW chang'd are the times, and our people of late,When my brother John Bull has no use for his pate?A head without tongue ev'ry wise man maintains,Is just as absurd as a tongue without brains.Sing ballinamona or a,No head without tongue then for me.Fine laws have been made, for the good of the land,And our heads are now placed where our heels us'd to stand,Topsy-turvy's the word where fair Order and birth,And this once land of plenty's now chang'd to a dearth.Sing ballinamona, &c.No plenty of starving for me.But still it is some consolation to think,How little we need either victuals or drink,For the Minister's able, who fram'd these wise laws,Has given to a Justice the key to our jaws.Sing ballinamona, &c.No justice to lock jaws for me.When enslav'd thus the People, the Ministers thenSend to Botany Bay all who dare to complain,And religion they mock, when we've scanty of meat,For they publish a Fast, when there's nothing to eat.