XVIII.
LONG AGO.
To the Editor of the “Morning Post.”
Sir,—The sentimental song of which I send you a copy has just been
published by Mr. Chappell. The author of it has most impudently,
and without any acknowledgment, adapted to his own purposes the
words of an affectionate effusion which I poured forth some months ago
upon occasion of the triumphant exaltation of one of my fellow-radicals
to those honours and emoluments to which we all aspire.
I beg you to insert the original stanzas, and to aid me in the exposure
of the plagiary. My servile imitator may have the applause of the
boarding-school, but justice will be done me at the Free-and-Easy.
I am, Sir, your obedient servant,
A Westminster Elector.
“We were children together! Oh, brighter than mine,” etc.
We were patriots together; Oh, placeman and peer
Are the patrons who smile on your labours to-day;
And Lords of the Treasury lustily cheer
Whatever you do, and whatever you say.
Go, pocket, my Hobhouse, as much as you will;
The times are much altered, we very well know;
But will you not, will you not, talk to us still,
As you talked to us once, long ago, long ago?
We were patriots together! I know you will think,
Of the cobblers' caresses, the coal-heavers' cries,
Of the stones that we threw, and the toasts that we drink,
Of our pamphlets and pledges, our libels and lies!
When Truth shall awake, and the country and town
Be heartily weary of Althorp and Co.,
My Hobhouse, come back to the Anchor and Crown,
Let us be what we were long ago—long ago!
