The political and occasional poems of Winthrop Mackworth Praed Edited, with notes, by Sir George Young |
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 | The political and occasional poems of Winthrop Mackworth Praed |  |
168
XIV. THE YOUNG WHIG.
Oh yes, he is in Parliament,
He's been returning thanks;
You can't conceive the time he's spent
In giving people franks;
He's grown a most important man,
His name's in the Gazette;
And, though he swears he never can—
I'm sure he will—forget.
He's been returning thanks;
You can't conceive the time he's spent
In giving people franks;
He's grown a most important man,
His name's in the Gazette;
And, though he swears he never can—
I'm sure he will—forget.
He talks quite grand of Grant and Grey;
He jests at Holland House;
He dines extremely every day
On ortolans and grouse:
Our salads now he will not touch,
He keeps a different set;
They'll never love him half so much
As those he must forget!
He jests at Holland House;
He dines extremely every day
On ortolans and grouse:
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He keeps a different set;
They'll never love him half so much
As those he must forget!
He used to write the sweetest things,
In all our Albums, once;
But now his harp has lost the strings;
His muse is quite a dunce.
We read his speeches in the Times,
And vast renown they get;
But all those dear, delicious rhymes
All hearts, but mine, forget.
In all our Albums, once;
But now his harp has lost the strings;
His muse is quite a dunce.
We read his speeches in the Times,
And vast renown they get;
But all those dear, delicious rhymes
All hearts, but mine, forget.
He flirts this year immensely ill;
His flattery don't improve;
When Weippert plays a gay quadrille,
He sighs, “I rise to move;”
And when I sing “The Soldier's Tear,”
The song he called his “pet,”
He comes and whispers “Hear, hear, hear!
How can he so forget?
His flattery don't improve;
When Weippert plays a gay quadrille,
He sighs, “I rise to move;”
And when I sing “The Soldier's Tear,”
The song he called his “pet,”
He comes and whispers “Hear, hear, hear!
How can he so forget?
I'm studying now, to please his taste,
MacCulloch, Bentham, Mill;
To win his smile, I'm making haste
To understand the Bill;
I read the stuff Reviewers write
Of corn, and funds, and debt;
Alas, that all I read at night
With morning I forget!
MacCulloch, Bentham, Mill;
To win his smile, I'm making haste
To understand the Bill;
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Of corn, and funds, and debt;
Alas, that all I read at night
With morning I forget!
I wish he'd leave his friend, Lord Brougham,
The realm's disease to cure;
Wherever else, in him there's room
For some reform, I'm sure!
His borough is in Schedule A,
And that's some comfort yet;
'Twill hardly give him time, they say—
Poor fellow! to forget!
The realm's disease to cure;
Wherever else, in him there's room
For some reform, I'm sure!
His borough is in Schedule A,
And that's some comfort yet;
'Twill hardly give him time, they say—
Poor fellow! to forget!
| The political and occasional poems of Winthrop Mackworth Praed | |