The political and occasional poems of Winthrop Mackworth Praed Edited, with notes, by Sir George Young |
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THIRTY-TWO AND THIRTY-THREE. |
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 | The political and occasional poems of Winthrop Mackworth Praed |  |
228
XXXIII. THIRTY-TWO AND THIRTY-THREE.
“Nous avons changé tout cela.”—Molière.
229
I often think it's very strange
That people are so very slow
In finding out how all things change
Which mortals think, or feel, or know.
What fools have done, they still will do;
What fools have been, they still will be;
As if the world of thirty-two
Had been the world of thirty-three.
That people are so very slow
In finding out how all things change
Which mortals think, or feel, or know.
What fools have done, they still will do;
What fools have been, they still will be;
As if the world of thirty-two
Had been the world of thirty-three.
When wise Lord Milton fiercely screamed
“No taxes till the Bill is law,”
To all the Whigs Lord Milton seemed
The noblest lord they ever saw:
At Michaelmas, if I and you
Should plead, my friends, Lord Milton's plea,
As he was puffed in thirty-two
We sha'n't be puffed in thirty-three.
“No taxes till the Bill is law,”
To all the Whigs Lord Milton seemed
The noblest lord they ever saw:
At Michaelmas, if I and you
Should plead, my friends, Lord Milton's plea,
As he was puffed in thirty-two
We sha'n't be puffed in thirty-three.
Where patriots met a year ago
To wave their hats, and strain their throats,
Lord Althorp took his pen, you know,
And wrote them vastly civil notes;
But bless us, if a chosen few
Are found admiring Lee and Mee,
They feel the thanks of thirty-two
Are turned to thumps in thirty-three.
To wave their hats, and strain their throats,
Lord Althorp took his pen, you know,
And wrote them vastly civil notes;
But bless us, if a chosen few
Are found admiring Lee and Mee,
They feel the thanks of thirty-two
Are turned to thumps in thirty-three.
230
Of old, when long petitions came
From Tom and Dick, who brew and bake,
We used to hear the Press proclaim
That all the nation was awake.
If Dick and Tom, who bake and brew,
To-day petition to be free,
“The nation” roared in thirty-two,
It's just “the mob” in thirty-three.
From Tom and Dick, who brew and bake,
We used to hear the Press proclaim
That all the nation was awake.
If Dick and Tom, who bake and brew,
To-day petition to be free,
“The nation” roared in thirty-two,
It's just “the mob” in thirty-three.
Our Pyms and Hampdens made their bow
To millions, or to myriads, then;
But Lord! they only babble now
To half-a-score of drunken men.
Then, nothing into numbers grew;
Now, numbers into nothing flee;
For one was ten in thirty-two,
And ten are one in thirty-three.
To millions, or to myriads, then;
But Lord! they only babble now
To half-a-score of drunken men.
Then, nothing into numbers grew;
Now, numbers into nothing flee;
For one was ten in thirty-two,
And ten are one in thirty-three.
What fairy with her liquid song—
What sorcerer with his mystic spell
Turns wrong to right, and right to wrong,
And Hell to Heaven, and Heaven to Hell?
Brougham says—and what Brougham says, is true—
“Don't marvel at the things you see;
For we were Whigs in thirty-two,
And we are Whigs in thirty-three!”
What sorcerer with his mystic spell
Turns wrong to right, and right to wrong,
And Hell to Heaven, and Heaven to Hell?
Brougham says—and what Brougham says, is true—
“Don't marvel at the things you see;
For we were Whigs in thirty-two,
And we are Whigs in thirty-three!”
| The political and occasional poems of Winthrop Mackworth Praed | |