University of Virginia Library


103

XXIV. BIGOTRY'S REMONSTRANCE.


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'Twas dead midnight, when Bigotry came
With Philpotts for her guide,
And shook her torch of sulphury flame
At old John Scott's bedside.
“Awake!” she said, “for my soul is sick,
Our throne is crumbling fast,
And Common Sense the heretic
Is rending my chain at last.
“Yet Lethbridge is peacefully going to sleep,
As most of his hearers do,
And Goulburn sits in a reverie deep,
Dreaming of two times two.
“And dandies are carelessly sipping the froth
From the Sillery in Pall Mall,
And Crocky is happily laying the cloth
For the layers of odds in Hell.

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“They are blinded all by Priests and Popes,
They do not pity Peel;
They have ceased to fear O'Connell's tropes,
And the metaphors of Sheil.
“Awake, John Scott; once more advance
For the Church and Constitution,
The Champion still of Ignorance,
The Child of Persecution.
“And quail not thou for wrath or scorn;
I bring thee arms to-night
Of stouter mould than ever were worn
By Thetis' son in fight:
“The sword of falsehood, to contend
That Lansdowne's white is black;
The shield of dulness strong, to send
The jests of Holland back:
“Abuse, which seems to the Tory host
The language of sobriety,
And cant, which sounds to the Morning Post
Like the tone of the truest piety.
“Go feign and flatter, preach and croak,
Beseech, reprove, upbraid;

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And ever and anon invoke
Thy Frederic's holy shade.
“Tell of the faggots of ancient years
Lit up by Monk and Friar,
Shed, if thou canst, appropriate tears,
And call Lord King a liar.
“Then lull their Lordships to repose
With a quibble or a pun;
There's a proper theme in a nation's woes
For a Merry-Andrew's fun.
“His Majesty shall clasp thy hand
When the hallowed strife is o'er,
And the princely lungs of Cumberland
Shall give thee one cheer more!”