THOUGHTS ON TAR BARRELS.
(Vide Description of a late Fête.
)
1832.
What a pleasing contrivance! how aptly devis'd
'Twixt tar and magnolias to puzzle one's noses!
And how the tar-barrels must all be surpris'd
To find themselves seated like “Love among roses!”
What a pity we can't, by precautions like these,
Clear the air of that other still viler infection;
That radical pest, that old whiggish disease,
Of which cases, true-blue, are in every direction.
Stead of barrels, let's light up an Auto da Fé
Of a few good combustible Lords of “the Club;”
They would fume, in a trice, the Whig chol'ra away,
And there's B---cky would burn like a barrel of bub.
How R---d---n would blaze! and what rubbish throw out!
A volcano of nonsense, in active display;
While V---ne, as a butt, amidst laughter, would spout
The hot nothings he's full of, all night and all day.
And then, for a finish, there's C---mb---d's Duke,—
Good Lord, how his chin-tuft would crackle in air!
Unless (as is shrewdly surmised from his look)
He's already bespoke for combustion elsewhere.
