University of Virginia Library

We own that some would make a noise,—
Boys aping men—men aping boys:
But all true patriots like Jack R---ll.
Though now and then they join'd the bustle;
Yet in their hearts abhorr'd the thing,
And loved, like him, the Church and King!
'Tis true, they bellow'd for Reform,
Yet, seeming hot, were scarcely warm.
Nay, all that knew their feelings best,
Knew that it made their standing jest.
Admit, they sometimes swell'd the crowd,
Their curses were not deep, though loud.
There's Gwennapp ready to make oath,
For office he was never loath;
Nay, since his tumble in the stocks,
He scorn'd the very name of Fox.
There's our great orator who wishes,
May all his bones go feed the fishes!
But, since the faction first harangued,
He wonders they escaped unhang'd.
Their muddled, mongrel, special pleadings,
Their nameless ------ House proceedings,
The nonsense that by dint of votes
They strove to cram down people's throats,
Their Constitutional infractions,
The head and tail of their transactions;
He gives them to the D---l that moved them:
They lie, that say he liked or loved them.
In secret he adored the throne;
He cares not where the secret's known.
“So your Petitioner will pray.”
He farther saith, 'twas clear as day,
Six yards of ministerial silk,
At any time had changed his milk;
A black emollient for his skin,
Grown rusty with the bombasin;
But stuff eternal in and out,
The purest loyalty might rout;
Not that a treasury could buy him—
He wishes that they'd dare to try him,
Although at certain times a title
Might seem to some a fit requital,—
Not that he meant to eat his words,
To be a lord,—or fifty lords.
“The vessel gone?”—“High hopes of P---y,”
“Sure as my grandam to miscarry;”
“He takes five hundred pecks of coals!”
“No doubt he'll liquify the poles;”
“He's ballasted with flying sledges,”
“The saints preserve the Arctic hedges!
“Some gallons of Sir Humphrey's acid,”
“Just half a pint makes ocean placid;”
“A liquid, with a Bramah stopper,
For raising”—“Brushwood upon copper.”
“A set of patent music-boxes
To lure the buffaloes and foxes;
French watches for the Polar frows,
The new steam-acting Perkins' ploughs;
The seeds of all the favourite spices,
The last machines for making ices.—
The cargo quite a thing of tact.”
—“Sir! listen, if you like a fact:
After three months' ice-parading,
After three months' masquerading,
After three months' knocks and bumps
That bring his lugger to her stumps;
After loss of pipes and spoons,
Deficit of pantaloons;
Hairbreadth scapes of white bear paws,
Sentimental loves of squaws;
Just as he espied the channel,
Brought to his last yard of flannel;
All his best cigars burnt out,
Winds all whistling “right about;”
Quarter-day you'll have him back,
With his volume in his pack.