Poems and Songs, Humorous and Satirical By Alexander Rodger |
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“THE BILL, THE WHOLE BILL, AND NOTHING BUT THE BILL.” |
 | Poems and Songs, Humorous and Satirical |  |
355
“THE BILL, THE WHOLE BILL, AND NOTHING BUT THE BILL.”
Peace, peace! Johnny Bull, what the deuce are you growling at?
Can't you keep gnawing your bone and be still?
Sandy and Paddy, too, what are you howling at?
Have you not all of you now got your will?
Did you not lately most loudly vociferate—
Loudly as Boreas on cold wintry hill—
Threatening your old whippers-in at so stiff a rate
That they were fain just to give you your “Bill?”
Can't you keep gnawing your bone and be still?
Sandy and Paddy, too, what are you howling at?
Have you not all of you now got your will?
Did you not lately most loudly vociferate—
Loudly as Boreas on cold wintry hill—
Threatening your old whippers-in at so stiff a rate
That they were fain just to give you your “Bill?”
The Bill, the whole Bill, aye, and nought but the Bill you'd have,
Thinking 'twould shield you from all future ill,
Why then!—what the deuce is it more that you still would have?
Shame! to ask anything more than your Bill.
You thought that, at once, of your burdens 'twould lighten you,
Give you fine raiment and victuals your fill;
Nay more—to the rank of fine gentlemen heighten you;
Well—have not these things been done by your Bill?
Thinking 'twould shield you from all future ill,
Why then!—what the deuce is it more that you still would have?
Shame! to ask anything more than your Bill.
356
Give you fine raiment and victuals your fill;
Nay more—to the rank of fine gentlemen heighten you;
Well—have not these things been done by your Bill?
Say, has it not proven a cure that is Radical?
A grand panacea for each human ill?
A remedy, far beyond any thing medical?
Has not perfection been stamp'd on your Bill?
The bantling's your own, take and nurse it most tenderly,
Don't use it rudely, the poor thing to kill;
And though, for a time, it should serve you but slenderly,
Years may give vigour and strength to your Bill.
A grand panacea for each human ill?
A remedy, far beyond any thing medical?
Has not perfection been stamp'd on your Bill?
The bantling's your own, take and nurse it most tenderly,
Don't use it rudely, the poor thing to kill;
And though, for a time, it should serve you but slenderly,
Years may give vigour and strength to your Bill.
But if with its years no improvements grow visible;
If it still fail your desires to fulfil;
Exciting your enemies' faculties risible,
Even then don't desert it, 'tis still your own Bill.
But O! should it e'er try some damn'd whiggish trick, alas!
Such as coercing you 'gainst your own will,
To Muscovy send it, a present to Nicholas,
Make him adopt it—and get a New Bill.
If it still fail your desires to fulfil;
Exciting your enemies' faculties risible,
Even then don't desert it, 'tis still your own Bill.
But O! should it e'er try some damn'd whiggish trick, alas!
Such as coercing you 'gainst your own will,
To Muscovy send it, a present to Nicholas,
Make him adopt it—and get a New Bill.
| Poems and Songs, Humorous and Satirical | |