Chapter D: L. Ramsbottom (1)

P.S.--I forgot to tell you my fourth gull, Addlehead, is going to be marred next week to Dr. Pillycooshy, of Peckham.

POLITICAL SONGS AND SQUIBS.

FROM A DRAWING MADE BY MR. EDDIS

_For the collection of Mr. Magrath, long the respected Secretary of the Athenæum Club._]

POLITICAL SONGS AND SQUIBS.

[The following is from The Arcadian, a magazine which Hook edited and principally wrote in 1820, and which only reached two numbers.]

CARMEN ÆSTUALE.

A SONG FOR THE SUMMER, TO BE SUNG BY J. C. H----, ESQ.,[19] NOW A PRISONER IN HIS MAJESTY'S GAOL OF NEWGATE.

_Tune_--"Whare ha' ye bin a' the day, my boy Tammy?"

Where have ye been a' the Spring,
My boy Cammy?
Where have ye been a' the Spring,
My boy Cammy?
I have been in Newgate keep,
Doomed to dine, to drink, to sleep,
Side by side with rogue and sweep,
In dungeon dark and clammy.[20]

What took you to Newgate keep,
My boy Cammy?
What took you to Newgate keep,
My boy Cammy?
I did once my goose-quill take,
To shew a Whig a small mistake.
Did you do't for freedom's sake?
Freedom's my eye and Tammy!

What then did you do it for,
My boy Cammy?
What then did you do it for,
My boy Cammy?
Because I thought if I were sent
To jail, for libelling Parliament,
I might chance to circumvent
Next election, Lamby.[21]

How would that throw out George Lamb,
My boy Cammy?
How would that throw out George Lamb,
My boy Cammy?
Because, with tag-rag and bobtail,
Nothing does but going to jail;
We have seldom found it fail;
_Voyez vous, mon ami!_

How do you make _that_ out,
My boy Cammy?
How do you make _that_ out,
My boy Cammy?
See what all the rest have done--
Abbott, Burdett, Waddington,
Blandford, Hunt, and Wat--son,
And now, like them, here am I!

Did the Speaker talk to you,
My boy Cammy?
Did the Speaker talk to you,
My boy Cammy?
No;--my visit to Papa
Wreck'd my prospects of _éclat_;
I was never at the bar,
Where I thought they'd ha' me.

Why, then, 'tis a stupid job,
My boy Cammy?
Why, then, 'tis a stupid job,
My boy Cammy?
No;--because when I come out
They'll have a car, without a doubt,
And, in triumph, all about,
The biped beasts will draw me.

You've mistaken quite your game,
My boy Cammy;
You've mistaken quite your game,
My boy Cammy.
Of fulsome stuff, like that, we're sick,
Besides, we all see through the trick;
Before we drag, we'll see you "kick"
Before your prison, d--mme!

ASS-ASS-INATION.[22]

"Write me down an Ass."--SHAKSPEARE.

The Earl of Grosvenor is an Ass-
--erter of our freedom;
And were he Canterbury's Grace,
The Gospels in his Sovereign's face,
He'd rather throw, than read 'em.

My Lord of Grantham is an Ass-
--ailer of Black Wooler.
But, if this blustering York Hussar
Were tried in any real war,
'Tis thought he might be cooler.

Lord Enniskillen is an Ass-
--enter to Lord Grantham;
Bold, generous, noisy, swearing friends--
Till they have gain'd their private ends,
And that their patrons want 'em.

The Earl of Harewood is an Ass-
--ured help in trouble;
For, when his Lordship condescends,
Out of a scrape to help his friends,
He only makes it double.

The Earl of Morley is an Ass-
--istant to Lord Granville;
His head outside is rich in shoot;
But to beat anything into 't
I'd rather thump an anvil.

Crazy Lord Erskine is an Ass-
--ortment of all follies:
He was the first to slur the Queen;
But since his trip to Gretna Green,
He's wondrous kind to dollies.

The good Lord Kenyon is an Ass-
--uager of dissension;
With feeble voice, and maudlin eye,
He would have pray'd for infamy,
And granted sin a pension.

The Lord Ashburton is an Ass-
--iduous attender;
No voter for the Queen is stouter,
Although he knows no more about her,
Than of the Witch of Endor.

The Duke of Leinster is an Ass-
--ociate whom she flatters;
Though, by two uncles he has seen,
To hate a King, and love a Queen,
Are rather ticklish matters.

In short, each Whig Lord is an Ass-
--emblage of all merit;
And to reward their virtuous lives,
May all their daughters and their wives
The Queen's good taste inherit.

Lord Blessington's a stage-struck Ass-
--umer of Lothario;
But by his talents, wit, or grace,
(Had he but eyes to find his place,)
He's fitter for Paddy Cary O!

Lord Steward Cholmondeley is an Ass-
--imilate Polonius!
He dares not blame "the mob-led Queen,"
Though he best knows, her loves have been
What others call erroneous.

Lord Arden's an official Ass-
--ignee of naval prizes;
And, as the moon affects the seas,
His loyalty obeys his fees,
And with them falls or rises.

Lord Hampden is a twaddling Ass-
--assin of our patience;
This Guelphic Knight, so dire and thin,
Rides his white horse in the train of sin,
Like Death in the Revelations!

MICHAEL'S DINNER; OR, STAUNCH FRIENDS TO REFORM.

Fair Reform--celestial maid!
Hope of Britons!--hope of Britons!
Calls her followers to her aid;
She has fit ones!--she has fit ones!
They would brave, in danger's day,
Death to win her!--Death to win her!
If they met not by the way
Michael's dinner--Michael's dinner!

Lambton leads the patriot van;
Noble fellow--generous fellow!
Quite the dandy of the clan--
Rather yellow--rather yellow!
Of fair Liberty he tells
Tales bewitching--tales bewitching;
But they vanish, when he smells
Michael's kitchen--Michael's kitchen!

Lawyer Brougham is next in rank;
Prates like Babel--prates like Babel;
He has never eat or drank
At Bribery's table--Bribery's table;
What, then, now can stop his mouth,
In this hot age--in this hot age?
'Tis, if he would tell the truth,
Michael's potage--Michael's potage!

Hobhouse, who pretends to _νους_,
Cur of Burdett--cur of Burdett;
Fired his pop-gun, but the House
Never heard it--never heard it;
He foresaw, from Canning's lash,
Stripes too cutting--stripes too cutting,
So he sneak'd away to hash
Michael's mutton--Michael's mutton.

Where was, on that famous night,
Hume the surgeon?--Hume the surgeon?
Who pretends to set us right
By constant purging--constant purging;
No division yet expecting--
Fond of work, he--fond of work, he--
At the moment was dissecting
Michael's turkey--Michael's turkey!

Fergusson his place may choose
In the bevy--in the bevy;
He's the real Taylor's goose,
Hot and heavy--hot and heavy--
He'd out-do, with sword and flame,
Senna-cherib--Senna-cherib.
What, that evening, made him tame?
Michael's spare-rib--Michael's spare-rib.

Thus the social round they form,
In Privy-Gardens--Privy-Gardens;
And they care about Reform
Not three farthings--not three farthings.
To yawn and vote let others stay,
Who can bear it--who can bear it;
They, much wiser, drink away
Michael's claret--Michael's claret.

While ye thus, in claret, Sirs,
Lose your reason--lose your reason;
England will recover hers,
Lost last season--lost last season!
Faction's mobs--Sedition's hordes
Must grow thinner--must grow thinner,
When plain Common Sense records
Michael's dinner--Michael's dinner!

[Music: MRS. MUGGINS'S VISIT TO THE QUEEN.

TUNE--"_Have you been to Abingdon?_"

Have you been to Bran-den-burgh? Heigh, Ma'am, Ho, Ma'am?
You've been to Bran-den-burgh, Ho? Oh, yes, I have been, Ma'am, to
vi-sit the Queen, Ma'am, with the rest of the gal-lan-ty
show, show; with the rest of the gal-lan-ty show.]

And who were your company--Heigh, Ma'am, ho, Ma'am?
Who were your company, ho?
--We happen'd to drop in,
With Gem'men from Wapping,
And Ladies from Blowbladder-Row----Row,
And Ladies from Blowbladder-Row.

What saw you at Brandenburgh,--Heigh, Ma'am, ho, Ma'am?
What saw you at Brandenburgh, ho?
--We saw a great dame,
With a face red as flame,
And a character spotless as snow----snow,
And a character spotless as snow.

And what said her Majesty--Heigh, Ma'am, ho, Ma'am?
What said her Majesty, ho?
--What I understood's,
She's come for our goods,
And when she has got them, she'll go----go,
And when she has got them, she'll go.

And who were attending her--Heigh, Ma'am, ho, Ma'am?
Who were attending her, ho?
Lord Hood for a man,
For a Maid, Lady Anne,
And Alderman Wood for a beau----beau,
And Alderman Wood for a beau.

And the Alderman's family--Heigh, Ma'am, ho, Ma'am?
The Alderman's family, ho?
--Yes--Georgy, and Kitty,
One fat--t'other pretty,
And the son who was brought up at Bow----Bow,
The son who was brought up at Bow.

And had she no Countesses--Heigh, Ma'am, ho, Ma'am?
Had she no Countesses, ho?
--O yes!--painted Jersey,
Who might have worn kersey,
Had folks their deserts here, below----low,
Had folks their deserts here below.

And had she no other, Ma'am--Heigh, Ma'am, ho, Ma'am?
Had she no other, Ma'am, ho?
--There was one Lady Grey,
Whose temper, they say,
Like her Lord's, is as sweet as a sloe----sloe,
Like her Lord's, is as sweet as a sloe.

Was no one from Croxteth there--Heigh, Ma'am, ho, Ma'am?
No one from Croxteth there, ho?
--Oh, no--Lady Sefton
Would sooner have left town,
Both her and her daughters--than go----go,
Both her and her daughters--than go.

And had she no Commoners--Heigh, Ma'am, ho, Ma'am?
Had she no Commoners, ho?
--I happen'd to look,
And could find in her book
Only Fergusson, Taylor, and Co.----Co.,
Fergusson, Taylor, and Co.

And had she no son-in-law--Heigh, Ma'am, ho, Ma'am?
Had she no son-in-law, ho?
--Yes; time-serving Leopold,
A puppet that we uphold,
Though neither for use nor for show----show,
Neither for use nor for show.

And did they meet tenderly--Heigh, Ma'am, ho, Ma'am?
Did they meet tenderly, ho?
--They were both so intent,
About taxes and rent,
That they never once thought of their woe----woe,
They never once thought of their woe.

And had she no Counsellors--Heigh, Ma'am, ho, Ma'am?
Had she no Counsellors, ho?
--Yes; one Mr. Brougham,
Who sneak'd out of her room,
Pretending the Circuit to go----go,
Pretending the Circuit to go.

How fared he at Lancaster--Heigh, Ma'am, ho, Ma'am?
How fared he at Lancaster, ho?
--They physick'd and bled,
And they blister'd his head,
And kept him uncommonly low----low,
And kept him uncommonly low.

Had she no solicitor--Heigh, Ma'am, ho, Ma'am?
Had she no solicitor, ho?
--Yes, one Mr. Vizard,
Who, being no wizard,
She overboard hasten'd to throw----throw,
She overboard hasten'd to throw.

And has she two Chamberlains--Heigh, Ma'am, ho, Ma'am?
Has she two Chamberlains, ho?
--Yes! both strapping fellows,
Would make a man jealous,
With whiskers as black as a crow----crow,
With whiskers as black as a crow.

And had she no beggar's brat--Heigh, Ma'am, ho, Ma'am?
Had she no beggar's brat, ho?
--Yes, one, pale and silly,
Whom she calls Sir Billy;
But whose brat he is, I don't know----know,
But whose brat he is, I don't know.

And has she a Clergyman--Heigh, Ma'am, ho, Ma'am?
Has she a Clergyman, ho?
--Yes, one Doctor Fellowes,
Who puffs like a bellows,
The coals of sedition to blow----blow,
The coals of sedition to blow.

And has she no General--Heigh, Ma'am, ho, Ma'am?
Has she no General, ho?
--Yes, poor prating Wilson,
Who, if he e'er kills one,
'Tis more by a word than a blow----blow,
'Tis more by a word than a blow.

And has she a Banking-house--Heigh, Ma'am, ho, Ma'am?
Has she a Banking-house, ho?
--When Coutts was unhandsome,
She shifted to Ransome,
To whom she does nothing but owe----owe,
To whom she does nothing but owe.

Has she a good table, Ma'am--Heigh, Ma'am, ho, Ma'am?
Has she a good table, Ma'am, ho?
--There is one Mrs. Wilde,
Who her cook-maid is styled,
But they say that her soups are so-so----so,
They say that her soups are so-so.

And what are her drinkables--Heigh, Ma'am, ho, Ma'am?
What are her drinkables, ho?
--It being but noon,
She said 'twas too soon
For any thing else but Noyeau----yeau,
Any thing else but Noyeau.

And has she a bed-fellow--Heigh, Ma'am, ho, Ma'am?
Has she a bed-fellow, ho?
--I asked one Vassalli,
Who said, "Fi-donc, allez,
Ma chère, you no business to know----know,
You have no business to know."

How spent she her time abroad--Heigh, Ma'am, ho, Ma'am?
How spent she her time abroad, ho?
--In hugging her valet,
And dancing a ballet,
And kissing Pope Pius's toe----toe,
Kissing Pope Pius's toe.

Was she at Jerusalem--Heigh, Ma'am, ho, Ma'am?
Was she at Jerusalem, ho?
--She borrow'd an ass,
To ride on--but, alas!
She couldn't get donkey to go----go,
She couldn't get donkey to go.

What did she in Africa--Heigh, Ma'am, ho, Ma'am?
What did she in Africa, ho?
--She set, at Algiers,
All the Turks by the ears,
Till they found she was fifty or so----so,
Till they found she was fifty or so.

What did she in Lombardy--Heigh, Ma'am, ho, Ma'am?
What did she in Lombardy, ho?
--Her tradesmen she pilfer'd,
Bamboozled Lord Guilford,
And choused Marietti and Co.----Co.,
And choused Marietti and Co.

What did she at Napoli--Heigh, Ma'am, ho, Ma'am?
What did she at Napoli, ho?
--With sorrow I speak it,
She went, mother--naked,
And laurell'd the bust of King Joe----Joe,
And laurell'd the bust of King Joe.

Will she have a drawing-room--Heigh, Ma'am, ho, Ma'am?
Will she have a drawing-room, ho?
--Oh, yes, I presume,
That she might find a room,
If she could but find any to go----go,
If she could but find any to go.

Will she soon sail for Italy--Heigh, Ma'am, ho, Ma'am?
Soon sail for Italy, ho?
--She'll go there no more,
Since what Barbara swore,
She fears German spies on the Po----Po,
She fears German spies on the Po.

Will she go to Switzerland--Heigh, Ma'am, ho, Ma'am?
Will she go to Switzerland, ho?
--She says that the Swiss,
Never tell when they kiss,
So she's all for the Paÿs de Vaud----Vaud,
She's all for the Paÿs de Vaud.

HUNTING THE HARE.

Would you hear of the triumph of purity?
Would you share in the joy of the Queen?
List to my song; and, in perfect security,
Witness a row where you durst not have been:
All kinds of Addresses,
From collars of S.S.'s
To venders of cresses,
Came up like a fair;
And all thro' September,
October, November,
And down to December,
They hunted this Hare!

First there appear'd, with the title of visitors,
Folks, whom of fair reputation they call,
Who, in good truth, and to candid inquisitors,
Seem to have no reputation at all,
The Woods', hen and chicken,
And Damer, moon-stricken,
And Russells, come thick in,
To greet the fat dame;
And the Duchess of Leinster,
(Well behaved while a spinster,)
With drabs of Westminster,
Now mixes her name!

Next, in great state, came the Countess of Tankerville,
With all the sons and the daughters she had;
Those who themselves are annoy'd by a canker vile,
Joy to discover another as bad:
So Lady Moll came on,
With _ci-devant_ Grammont,
And (awful as Ammon)
Her eloquent spouse!
And frothy Grey Bennett,
That very day se'nnight,
Went down in his dennett,
To Brandenburgh House.

Bold, yet half blushing, the gay Lady Jersey,
Drove up to the entrance--but halted outside,
While Sefton's fair tribe, from the banks of the Mersey,
Who promised to keep her in countenance--shyed!
But this never hinders
The sham Lady Lindors,
Who stoutly goes indoors--
Old Rush does the same;
Great scorn of all such is!--
But Bedford's brave Duchess,
To get in her clutches,
Delighted the dame.

Lank Lady Anne brought her sister of Somerset;
The least she could do for the wages she clears:
If the merits of either were up to the hammer set,
They'd fetch much the same as Lord Archibald's ears.
Not so Lady Sarah,
For she, under care o'
Some Hume or O'Meara,
Lies sick in her bed;
Yet her name they twist in
By means they persist in
Of even enlisting
The names of the dead!

Then came the premature wife of her pen-man,
Her guide, her adviser--in short, Mrs. Brougham,
And then the spare rib of Go-sin-no-more Denman,
And sweet Mrs. Williams, and young Mrs. Hume;
Old Barber, and Taylor,
And Hood, could not fail her.
But the Muse can't detail, or
Discuss what remains;--
Except Mrs. Wilde,
Who, for roast and for boil'd,
While as cook-maid she toil'd,
Was the pride of Devaynes.

The Earl-King, fearing the tumult should ever end,
Sends her his brother, while he keeps away;
Honour'd by courtesy, by his gown reverend,
But neither by nature, came sanctified Grey,
With the Norwich Archdeacon,
Who thinks he may speak on,
Because, like a beacon,
His head is so light;
And sea-beaten Madocks,
And some other sad dogs,
Who (like stinking haddocks)
By rotting grow bright.

Damsels of Marybone, deck'd out in articles,
Borrow'd of brokers for shillings and pence;
The eye of vulgarity any thing smart tickles;
Drabs love a ride at another's expence;
So swarming like loaches,
In ten hackney coaches,
They make their approaches
And pull at the bell;
And then they flaunt brave in,
Preceded by Craven,
And, clean and new shaven,
Topographical Gell.

Next came a motley assemblage of what I call
Mummers, and mountebanks, wildly array'd;
Hod-men, and coal-heavers, landmen and nautical,
Tag-rag and bobtail, a strange masquerade!
A rout of sham sailors,
Escap'd from their jailors,
As sea-bred as tailors,
In Shropshire or Wilts:
But mark Oldi's smile and hers,
Greeting, as Highlanders,
Half a score Mile-Enders,
Shivering in kilts!

Noel and Moore are the pink of her quality,
Judge what must be the more mean partisans!
What sweepings of kennels--what scums of rascality--
Hired and attired to enact artisans;
Sham painters, and stainers,
Smiths, coopers, cordwainers,
And glaziers--chief gainers,
In such a turmoil,
Though chandlers and joiners,
And forgers and coiners,
And pocket-purloiners,
All share in the spoil.

Verdant green-grocers, all mounted on Jack-asses,
(Lately called Guildfords, in honour of Fred,)
Sweet nymphs of Billingsgate, tipsy as Bacchuses,
Roll'd in like porpoises, heels over head!
And the better to charm her,
Three tinkers in armour,
All hired by Harmer,
Brave Thistlewood's friend;
Those stout men of metal,
Who think they can settle
The State, if a kettle
They're able to mend.

Next come the presents--Whitechapel (where Jewsbury)
Sends needles to hem Dr. Fellowes's lawn;
Cracknells from Cowes--sweet simnels from Shrewsbury--
Rump-steaks from Dublin--and collars of brawn--
A pig--and a blanket--
A sturgeon from Stangate--
The donors all thank-ed
By Royal desire!
Old Parr gave his benison
To Parkins's venison,
But the pamphlet of Tennyson
He threw in the fire.

Last came the Lack-wit address of Sir Bunbury,
Bearding the Crown with his sinecure wrath!
'Twould look, I fear, too like a libel, to unbury
All the exploits of this Knight of the Bath:
From service retreated;
By Wilson out-prated;
Like him, self-created;
His star is his sin!
It's splendour is lost in
The honours of Austin,
And Hownam, who crost in
With faint-away Flynn!

And now, e'er I send off my song to the town sellers,
('Twill fetch rather more than the speeches of Hume,)
We'll give one huzza to her pure privy Councillors,
Lushington, Williams, Wilde, Denman and Brougham.
With Vizard and Cobbett,
And Hunt who would mob it,
And Cam who would job it
As Dad did before;
With Waithman the prate-man,
And Pearson the plate man,
And Matthew the great man,
Who found us the _hare_.[23]

THE CITY CONCERT.

"Paulo Minora canemus."

_Tune_--"Alley Croker."

When Caroline, the great and big,
Was feasted in the City, Sir,
United Radical and Whig,
In malice or in pity, Sir,
Invited every Cockney dame
The Royal cause to lift on;
No matter what her rank or name,
If she had but a shift on.
Oh! such shifts! the flaunting belles of Drury
Are neat to those of Crooked Lane, Ram Alley, and Old Jewry.

A few there were, not so obscure,
Who boasted of clean linen;
But they, as all their friends assure,
Were driven by their men, in;
Who thought that after such delay
The Queen would be extinguish-ed,
Unless the blustering _Times_ could say,
That some few were "distinguish-ed."
Oh, poor _Times_! how sad a scrape you have got in,
Whose proud distinction is at best, 'twixt addled eggs and rotten.

To face at once so rank a crowd
The Queen was thought unable,
So Thorp, he begg'd to be allow'd
To hand her to a table,
Where wine, and something better still,
That smelt like Maraschino,
Might, if administer'd with skill,
Give courage to the Queen Oh.
Oh the Queen! the sober Queen of Britain,
She very soon was in a state an armed chair to sit on.

When safely seated in this chair,
The females were paraded,
And like a showman, the Lord Mayor,
The honours of the day did.
Mrs. Thorp herself came first,
("Her maiden name was Twigs, ma'am,")
Who curtseying low, cried, "May I burst,
But I adore your wig, Ma'am.
Oh your wig! your wig so black and curl'd, Ma'am,
That like the whiskers of a Jew it looks for all the world, Ma'am."

The Queen, who thought this speech a scoff,
Exclaim'd, "Mon Dieu quel fardeau."
So Mrs. Mayor was hurried off,
And up flounced Dame Ricardo.
Quoth Thorp, "This lady whom you view,
Her head so lofty carrying,
Is one, whom an Oporto Jew
Cut off his son for marrying."
Oh the son! his figure would not please ill
One whose taste might chance to lie between an owl and weasel.

The Queen, at seeing Mrs. Sykes,
Was ready to affront her;
No German Princess more dislikes
These gentry of the counter.
"But mean and vulgar as you think her,"
Said Thorp, "you needs must thank her,
Because her dad, though once a tinker,
Did become a banker."
Oh, the dad! fit sire of such a filly,
At the race-ball at Doncaster they call'd her orange-lily.

Next Mrs. Wilde the presence graced,
The splendour to increase, Ma'am;
"Though lowly born, she has a taste,
And been, like you, in Greece, Ma'am;
And though she wed a peaceful squire,
Was for a tar more fitted,
For she is used to standing fire,
And was brought up at Spit-head."
Oh, the fire of poor Devaynes's kitchen,
From whose hot coals she stole the blush that makes her so bewitching.

Scowling Williams next produces
What he calls his family;
It is a mode he oddly chooses
Down our throats to cram a lie;
His real wife is safe in bed,
Not dreaming of such folly;
Perhaps the fellow, in her stead,
Has brought his Vauxhall dolly.
Oh, the drab! her crime is doubly heinous,
Who could condescend to be that yellow Vulcan's Venus?

So far so well; but now the Quire
For harmony enlisted,
"Threw all the fat into the fire,"
(As Mrs. Wilde express'd it.)
The blundering dogs began to sing,
With all their might and energies,
"God preserve our noble King,
And confound his enemies!"
Oh, the Brutes! the Queen was well nigh fainting,
And would have blush'd, if one could blush beneath three coats of
painting.

In anger, for her coach she roar'd,
And into it, when ready,
She trundled, handed by my Lord,
And followed by my Lady.
And so they drove home in the dark,
The beau and his two graces,
Like (as a florist might remark)
Under a Hood two faces.
Oh, the Hood! convenient garb for lovers,
For none but they can truly say how many sins it covers.

INVITATIONS TO DINNER.

ON LORD CASTLEREAGH'S CALLING UPON HIS FRIENDS TO ATTEND REGULARLY, AND NOT TO GIVE OR ACCEPT INVITATIONS TO DINNER.

Hark! I hear the sounds of sorrow
Fill each office corridor;
Castlereagh cries--"From to-morrow,
Statesmen, ye must dine no more!

"No more let's see each office man on
Foot, about the hour of seven,
Teazing Arbuthnot and Duncannon,
To find a pair until eleven.

"No more let's hear Sir George, or Binning,
Or Huskisson, or Wellesley Pole,
Hinting, in sounds so soft and winning,
That soup and fish are apt to cool.

"Let Michael spread, in Privy-Gardens,
The board for Fergusson and Co.;
Let Sefton's cook exhaust his lardings;
They but allure away the foe.

"But some there are who never dine,
(Who ne'er are ask'd to dine, at least,)
Who swallow Ayles's tea like wine,
And reckon Bellamy's a feast.

"They can abjure risolles and pâtés,
And we must imitate their powers;
Besides, they keep their vigils gratis;
We are paid for keeping ours.

"But, Placemen! if ye heed my summons,
A mental feast I shall prepare;
Our House shall truly be, of Commons,
And Rickman's roll a bill of fare.

"Ley spreads upon the spacious table
A cloth--(no matter what its hue),
The Chaplain, fast as he is able,
Says grace, and bids us all fall to.

"Without four soups, I should be loth
Such splendid guests to entertain;
So Western shall be Barley-broth,
And Wood a _Potage à la Reine_!

"Mulligatawney, or Scotch porridge,
Either, Mackintosh may be;
And--(not his merits to disparage),
Spring Rice is _Printanier au ris_.

"For fish--that bench the Speaker's left on
Out-rivals Groves', to all beholders;
No one can see my good Lord Sefton
But thinks of a cod's head and shoulders!

"Brougham's crooked shifts, and talents boasted,
His slippery tricks no more conceal:
Dragg'd into light, cut up, and roasted,
What is he but spitch-cock'd eel?

"Calvert is Salmon--on a dish
Ne'er lay a thicker or a rounder;
Palmer's an undoubted fish,
And flat enough to be a flounder.

"Sir Ronald's Lobster, if you crack
His scarlet shell and straggling claws;
Old Markham is a muddy Jack;
And Warre and Davis Shrimps for sauce.

"Of Flesh and Fowl, too, there are plenty:--
Taylor is chick for Fricasees;
Coke's Norfolk bustard may content ye;
Rutlandshire supplies us Geese!

"Nugent would a meal afford one
Who liked Calves-head without the brain;
Rump-steaks we'll slice from generous Gordon,
There 'tis cut and come again!

"Creevey's Tripe, unsavoury stuff,
Fit meat alone for dog or cat he;
Henry Bennett is a Puff;
And Ossulston a _petit pâté_.

"Hobhouse is Cow-heel--which to cram
Would need a true Saint Giles's taste;
We'll put aside that dish of Lamb,
Too delicate for such a feast.

"Grant is a Sheep's pate broil'd and singed,
And none more empty or more hot is;
Hume is a monstrous bore's-head, fringed
And garnish'd round with many a nottice.

"Yorkshire puddings, rich in grease,
Are the types of Sykes and Wyvill;
Guise's brains are Gloucester cheese;
Peppery Lamberton is a devil!

"Parnell's a potato, mealy,
Thick, as ever Ireland grew;
Newport's butter-milk; and Heley
Hutchinson's an Irish-stew.

"For the rest, as housewives tell us,
How they serve their broken trash--
Wilson, Bernal, Moore, and Ellice,
Make an economic Hash!

"Come, then, hungry friends, fall to 't,
And, if patiently ye dine,
Kind Liverpool shall find ye fruit,
And jovial Bathurst choose your wine!"

VACATION REMINISCENCES; OR, WHIG OPERATIONS UP TO EASTER.

_Tune_-"Bow, wow, wow."

A pack of Hounds of Whiggish breed, who sought to get their name up,
And all throw off in gallant style whene'er they put the game up,
At Brookes's met to form their plans "In vulgum voces spargere"--
Not Brookes's Club, as heretofore, but Brookes's great Menagerie.
Bow, wow, wow,
Tol de riddle, tol de riddle,
Bow, wow, wow.

When "loaves and fishes" form'd the only object of the chase, Sir,
No dogs had better noses, or could go a better pace, Sir;
And all excell'd in "giving tongue" whene'er they took their
station,
To growl about the grievances of this unhappy nation.
Bow, wow, wow.

Small Bennet, Lushington, and Wood, engaged to raise the ghost of
A certain Royal Funeral, already made the most of;
While Wilson, in his grief at being laid upon the shelf, Sir,
Thought the most important subject for discussion was--Himself, Sir.
Bow, wow, wow.

Says Joseph Hume, "Though Croker's cuts have made an alter'd
mon o' me,
I'll still be foremost in the throng for preaching up economy;
I'll hunt down all the charges in our armies and our navies"--
"And I will be your whipper-in," cries gallant Colonel Davies.
Bow, wow, wow.

Then Curwen would repeal the tax on tallow, cheese, or leather.
Says Calcraft, "I've a better plan, and let us pull together;
Vansittart means to ease the Malt, so let us work the Salt Tax--
If Salt should be the word with him--why then we'll try the Malt
Tax."
Bow, wow, wow.

Young Normanby--surprising change!--the motley party graces,
And wars against his flesh and blood, to prate at useless places;
And Hobhouse swears that every place and placeman he will bark at,
Except the first Commissioner for Nabob's debts at Arcot.
Bow, wow, wow.

There's Joseph Yorke, while he a Lord of Admiralty flourish'd,
No patriotic schemes of close retrenchment ever nourish'd;
But since, O most unlucky day! his "stern was to the board room,"
He sternly vows for idle Lords we cannot now afford room.
Bow, wow, wow.

Then Calvert, who, of course, opposes all unfair monopolies,
Steps forth to regulate the sale of Bread in the metropolis.
"The poor," he says, "shall never have their quartern loaf too
dear, Sir,
If they will only hold their tongues about the price of Beer, Sir."
Bow, wow, wow.

Says Creevy, "I must needs confess, when I was at the India Board,
I ne'er did much but read the news, or loll upon the window-board;
But since my hopes of lolling there again are all demolish'd,
I'll prove the whole concern so bad, it ought to be abolish'd."
Bow, wow, wow.

"I care not who," says Lawyer Brougham, "from place or pension
budges;
What salaries ye lower, so ye leave alone the Judges;
Who knows but I, by chance, may be hereafter for the Bench meant,
Then _that_ is surely not a proper object for retrenchment."
Bow, wow, wow.

"'Tis wisely said," George Tierney cries, who to the last had
tarried,
"Too far by patriotic feelings some of ye are carried;
Economy 'tis very well at times to snarl and bite for,
But have a care, lest bye-and-bye there's nothing left to
fight for."
Bow, wow, wow.

But, spite of Tierney, they have things and notices in plenty, too,
To keep the Mountain pack at work till June or July, Twenty-two;
And there's no doubt they'll do as much to serve the grateful
nation,
As they had done before they parted for the short vacation.
Bow, wow, wow.

[Music: REMINISCENCES.

(_Continued._)

When last we left the Mountain Pack enjoying Easter's jolly days, We
followed up their sport until it ended with their hol-i-days; And
now against their "Privilege," we hope 'twill be no treason, To
track their steps throughout the dull remainder of the sea-son.
Bow, wow, wow, Fal liddle Fal de riddle, Bow, wow, wow.]

George Tierney is a cunning dog, and prudently does think it,
The wisest to run mute, and when a question rises, blink it;
To bunglers he has left it to "give tongue" and talk prophetics,
To Hume in figures, Cam in Greek, and Bennet in pathetics.
Bow, wow, wow.

Brougham vents a loud complaint, that Royal influence increases,
And holds that Members of the House should give up all their places;
But, shifting Master Harry, pray which way would int'rest turn you,
If George the Fourth forthwith was pleased to make you his Attorney?
Bow, wow, wow.

Says Jarvy Sefton, "I've a charming little job _in petto_,
From Salford's ancient County Court some modern fees to get O!
Just help me through with that, and I'll cry aye to all your
movements,
For war, the plague, economy, or any great improvements."
Bow, wow, wow.

Sir Francis Burdett next appears, once idol of the people,
Who says, the thought of raising rents should never make men sleep
ill;
For, though so pure a patriot, his gains he would increase, Sir,
And does not care if quartern loaves five shillings were a-piece, Sir.
Bow, wow, wow.

But what a noble stir he made on Hunt's incarceration,
Because his name he holds in such exalted estimation;
He always, to be sure, has shewn for him favour and affection,
As witness, how he praised him at the Westminster Election.
Bow, wow, wow.

Says Bridegroom Coke, "For speaking in the House I've lost my head,
Sir;
But never mind, I'll tell you what I mean to do instead, Sir,
I'll work as hard as I'm allow'd by Anne and the physicians,
And send you once a week, at least, a bag full of petitions."
Bow, wow, wow.

Says Gaffer Western, "Though we once, amongst our many whimsies,
Cried out with all our might for gold, and grumbled at the 'flimsies,'
Since Ministers now pay in cash, and think to cut a caper,
We'll turn about and badger them to pay again in paper."
Bow, wow, wow.

Then Johnny Russell made a speech, and some of it was pointed, too,
About "Reform in Parliament," and "state of things in ninety-two;"
But though 'twas call'd a sharp harangue, and he had clearly read
for't,
He never spoke of throwing open Tavistock or Bedford.
Bow, wow, wow.

Dull Joseph Hume, the stupidest of all the northern doctors,
Fell foul, in his good-natured way, of Royal droits and proctors;
And hoped that then five thousand pounds at least disbursed had been,
Sir,
To satisfy some Captain's claims who--votes for Aberdeen, Sir.
Bow, wow, wow.

Then Courteney moved, and others thought they could do much better,
Than vote a breach of Privilege, a certain printed letter;
But when they had its writer up, as all reporters teach, Sir,
The House forgot its privilege, and only shew'd its breach, Sir!
Bow, wow, wow.

Then Abercrombie gentle, seized with one of Quixote's frenzies,
Sets off, post haste in chaise and four, to call out Lawyer Menzies;
But when he got to Ferrybridge he long'd to join the pack again,
So after dinner, he and Althorpe--order'd horses back again.
Bow, wow, wow.

Wise Scarlett, who is just your man to browbeat, pose, or plead, Sir,
Produced a poor-bill, which, 'tis said, was very poor indeed, Sir;
And Denman spoke when he'd been made a serjeant in the morning,
And what he said betray'd that he'd been dining at the Horn Inn.
Bow, wow, wow.

While Whitbread, Calvert, Buxton all, kept up the price of beer, Sir,
Young Yellow Lambton seem'd to think the poor were charged too dear,
Sir;
But, though he loves his countrymen, he'd not, to save their souls,
Sir,
Make any alteration in the present price of coals, Sir.
Bow, wow, wow.

Grey Bennet having got a list of members holding places,
Began to foam of hospitals and of ophthalmic cases;
When "scissors cut as well as knives," when patients should take
blue pills,
His oratory--"all my eye"--the dullest he of pupils.
Bow, wow, wow.

Then as for Davies, Lennard, Ellis, Hutchinson, and Creevy,
Ricardo, Williams, Curwen, Smith, or Moses Bernal Levi;
They've done as much as smirking Rice or Thanet's Pat Concannon,
Or gaiter'd Michael Angelo, or stiff-neck'd Lord Dungannon.
Bow, wow, wow.

Then Mackintosh (poor Gerald's friend), who doles out legal knowledge
Three times a week to Guinea-pigs at Haileybury College,
Conceived the penal laws too hard on rogues of all descriptions,
From those who only rob, to those who--carry off subscriptions.
Bow, wow, wow.

Great Matthew Wood, a citizen, who never can be idle,
Brought forward as a mighty hit--the case of Jailor Bridle;
Of several other things he spoke, the brightest he of Members,
But what they were, nor you, nor I, nor any one remembers.
Bow, wow, wow.

At length, then, for the present, there's an end to all their labours,
The Mountain Pack are now let loose to howl it with their neighbours;
And so we bid them thus adieu, until the next campaign, Sir,
When if they bark, or snap, or bite, we'll--whip 'em in again, Sir.
Bow, wow, wow.

GAFFER GREY.

A SONG.

(With alterations and additions) written by the late patriotic Whig Citizen, THOMAS HOLCROFT, and addressed to his Friend and Patron, the Head of all the Whigs.

Ho!--Why do'st thou shiver and shake,
Gaffer Grey?
And why does thy nose look so blue?
"'Tis the people grow cold,
And I--prosy and old,
And my speeches, they say, are not new,
Well-a-day!"

Then clap a new tail on the rump,
Gaffer Grey,
Or the Whiggamores must go to pot
"Nay, but credit I've none,
All the Grenvilles have run,
Except Nugent--who's not worth the shot,
Well-a-day!"

Then hie to the house--you know where,
Gaffer Grey,
And steal up the stairs--you know when.
"No, 'though roughshod, I swore
To march in, through the door,
I shall ne'er pass that threshold again,
Well-a-day!"

There's Brougham, who can shift, like his nose,
Gaffer Grey,
Who browbeats the Parliament down.
"Pshaw, he shifts for himself,
Whilst he pockets the pelf,
And would sell the whole squad for a gown,
Well-a-day!"

There's the Patriot in Ilchester Jail,
Gaffer Grey,
Who will talk by the job--or the day.
"He's a low-minded carl,
Fit only to snarl,
And just as well out of the way,
Well-a-day!"

There's Hume with his tots and his vots,
Gaffer Grey,
With his scalpel cuts through thick and thin.
"Oh, he's worse than the other,
He'd cut up his brother,
If only to keep his hand in,
Well-a-day!"

Little Michael has beeves and fat ale,
Gaffer Grey,
Buona Roti--surnamed by the pack.
"His dinners be d----d;
When the starvelings are cramm'd,
Duncannon can't whistle them back,
Well-a-day!"

There's Creevy, your crony of old,
Gaffer Grey,
Who shew'd up the Board of Control.
"He's heavy and lame,
And his speeches the same,
Are uncommonly prosy and dull,
Well-a-day!"

There's Wooler, the Bibliopole bold,
Gaffer Grey,
Who at laws and at lawgivers laughs.
"Very well in his way,
But I beg leave to say,
I've a mortal aversion to Raffs,
Well-a-day!"

There's Bennet the Arch Philanthrope,
Gaffer Grey,
Who weeps for man, woman, and brute.
"He may weep as he will,
If he'll keep his tongue still;
But your best sort of weeper's--a Mute!
Well-a-day!"

There's Lambton, a sure card at hand,
Gaffer Grey,
Not given to blush or to flinch.
"He's a good sort of fellow,
Though rather too yellow,
And only of use at a pinch,
Well-a-day!"

There's Lushington, Denman, and Co.,
Gaffer Grey,
And their friend--what's his name--Mister Wood;
"No--the sweet Queen is gone,
Their vocation is done,
And they cannot do harm, if they would,
Well-a-day!"

There's Sefton the Good!--four-in-hand,
Gaffer Grey,
And there's Grosvenor the Great!--from his beeves.
"One wants for his head
A new lining, 'tis said;
And the other--some strawberry leaves,
Well-a-day!"

There's Ossulston, gallant as high,
Gaffer Grey,
Can prove his descent--without flaw.
"He was named for a stick,
'Twas a sad scurvy trick,
For he look'd like--a Frog with a Straw!
Well-a-day!"

Your chance is but bad, I confess,
Gaffer Grey,
But freedom may still be your butt.
"Talk of freedom--my eye!
If in the State Pie
I could get but a finger, I'd cut,--
Happy day!"

The times are not yet come to that,
Gaffer Grey.
What then?--"Whilst there's life there is hope:
Though John Bull turns his back
On the talented Pack,
You may still get Pat Bull from the Pope
By your play!"

THE IDLE APPRENTICE TURNED INFORMER.

A NEW BALLAD, BY T. C., ESQ.[24]

_Tune_--"When I was Maid, oh then, oh then!"

I once was a placeman, but then, but then,
I once was a placeman, but then
'Twas in the pure day
Of Lansdowne and Grey,
And the rest of the talented men--men!
And the rest of the talented men!

I had been a lawyer, but then, but then,
I had been a lawyer, but then
I hated the fag
Of the wig and the bag,
And envied the Parliament men--men,
And envied the Parliament men.

So I married a widow, and then, and then,
So I married a window, and then
Folks wonder'd to see
That a woman could be
So fond of a face like a wen--wen,
So fond of a face like a wen.

But she had a borough, and then, and then,
She had a borough, and then,
By the help of the dame,
I got into the same,
But never could do it again--again,
Never could do it again.

So I found out another, and then, and then,
So I found out another, and then
The worthy Lord Thanet,
He chose me to man it,
As free----as a sheep in a pen--pen!
As free as a sheep in a pen!

At last we got power, and then, and then,
At last we got power, and then
A salary clean
Of hundreds fifteen,
Made me the most happy of men--men,
Made me the most happy of men.

The first quarter-day came, and then, and then,
The first quarter-day came, and then
I reckon'd my score,
But I never did more
Till quarter-day came round again--'gain,
Till quarter-day came round again.

Despatches came sometimes, but then, but then,
Despatches came sometimes, but then
I handed them slyly
To Morpeth or Hiley,
And limp'd back to Brookes's again--'gain,
And limp'd back to Brookes's again.

If Ossulston call'd on me, then, oh then,
If Ossulston call'd on me then,
We stroll'd through the Park,
And the folks would remark,
We look'd like an owl and a wren--wren,
We look'd like an owl and a wren.

If I walk'd with dear Sefton, oh then, oh then,
If I walk'd with dear Sefton, oh then,
The people would stare,
And think us a pair
Of mummers, that parodied men--men,
Of mummers, that parodied men.

If I stay'd at the office, oh then, oh then,
If I stay'd at the office, oh then,
I damn'd all the Hindoos--
Look'd out of the windows--
And sometimes I mended a pen--pen!
And sometimes I mended a pen!

Such toil made me sulky, and then, and then,
Such toil made me sulky, and then,
If I ask'd for old Wright,
He came in in a fright,
As if to a bear in his den--den,
As if to a bear in his den.

This lasted a twelvemonth, and then, oh then,
This lasted a twelvemonth, and then,
To end all our cares,
They kick'd us down stairs,
As a hint not to come back again--'gain,
As a hint not to come back again.

The tumble was heavy, and then, oh then,
The tumble was heavy, and then
I grew very sour
At placemen and power,
And croak'd like a frog in a fen--fen,
And croak'd like a frog in a fen.

I vow'd to have vengeance, and then, oh then,
I vow'd to have vengeance, and then
'Tis a vulgar belief,
At catching a thief,
An accomplice is equal to ten--ten,
An accomplice is equal to ten.

So I turn'd informer, and then, oh then,
I turn'd informer, and then
I tried to expose
My friends and my foes,
As equally infamous men--men,
As equally infamous men.

The Whigs they cashier'd me, and then, oh then,
The Whigs they cashier'd me, and then
Grey haughtily swore
He'd trust me no more,
Not even with cutting a pen--pen,
Not even with cutting a pen.

Next Canning chastised me, and then, oh then,
Next Canning chastised me, and then,
If what is called shame,
Were aught but a name,
I could ne'er show my visage again--'gain,
I could ne'er show my visage again.

THE QUEEN'S SUBSCRIPTION.[25]

_Tune_--"The Black Joke."

Whoe'er knows St. James's, knows where the Whigs met
In behalf of the Queen, a subscription to get,
For her Black Wig and her Character white.
By Truth and by Wisdom supported she stood--
Truth's part play'd by Brougham, that of Wisdom by Wood--
They cursed, and they swore that she ne'er did amiss,
Though the Baron, they own'd, was so rude as to kiss
The Black Wig with the Character white.

At Brookes's they met--but demurr'd to the call
Of producing the cash--as they had none at all
For the Black Wig and the Character white.
Coke growl'd about rents, swore the funds ought to pay;
But Baring grimaced, and Ricardo squeak'd "Nay!"
And the young ones exclaim'd, in a querulous tone,
They each had to pay for a Saint of their own,
With a Black Wig and a Character white.

But though the subscription was tardy, and they
Had nothing to give, they had plenty to say
For the Black Wig and the Character white.
Lord Tavistock stammer'd three words in her praise,
And Sefton his voice and his shoulders did raise;
And Calcraft his nose cock'd, and Grant cock'd his eye,
And hypocrite Bennet pretended to cry
For the Black Wig and her Character white.

Fitzwilliam, that reverend proselyte, rose--
(We'll make him speak verse since he cannot speak prose)
For the Black Wig and her Character white.
"You seem," quoth the sage, "all averse to give cash,
And, in truth, you are right--what is money but trash?"
Let's give something better to end all these quarrels,
And raise a subscription of virtue and morals,
For the Black Wig and her Character white.

Besides, 'tis no merit one's surplus to share,
Then let us give _that_ which the least we can spare
To the Black Wig and her Character white.
For me I have changed all my friends at the brunt,
From Fox, Pitt, and Burke, down to Cobbett and Hunt,
As fickle in age as I was in my youth:
So freely subscribe my political truth
To the Black Wig and her Character white.

Old Tierney set down, with a sorrowful face,
The hopes of his life, all the prospects of place,
To the Black Wig and her Character white.
The message which Brougham had advised and had penn'd,
Poor Tierney had rashly advanced to defend,
And not to subscribe would be rather uncivil,
So he gives very frankly--he gives--to the Devil
The Black Wig and her Character white.

Such cheap contributions delighted the pack,
And, for once, they were ready their leaders to back,
For the Black Wig and her Character white.
Silly Billy, God bless him! subscribed all his sense;
Of loyalty Grey made a gallant expense;
The Gospels, Lord Grosvenor flung down in a boast;
And Erskine gave nobly--himself, as a toast;
For the Black Wig and her Character white.

Bald Bedford, his still balder eloquence gave;
And Blessington thought that his _coup-d'œil_ might save
The Black Wig and her Character white.
Big Nugent bestow'd all his graces upon her,
Ned Ellice his credit, and Guildford his honour;
The Heathcotes, their sense--both the old and the young--
And Hume gave--a notice, and Lambton gave--tongue
For the Black Wig and her Character white.

By Fergusson back'd, Michael Angelo Taylor
Supposed that his statesman-like views might avail her
Black Wig and her Character white.
Charles Calvert and Hurst their gentility join;
And Grenfell was ready, his visage to coin;
And Creevy, of other donations bereft,
Subscribed all the courage that Warrender left,
To the Black Wig and her Character white.

Grave Folkstone, who once before leap'd in the dark,
Transfers his devotions from Mary Ann Clarke
To the Black Wig and her Character white.
And Wetherell and Tennyson, _soi-disant_ Lawyers,
Would give her their fees--if they had but employers.
Scarlett offers his law and his wit too,--for Scarlett
Chimes in--as he pleasantly tell us--with Harlot
In a Black Wig and a Character white.

But some with whom nominal morals ran low,
Contrived other modes their devotion to show,
To the Black Wig and her Character white.
Burdett gave the bond he recover'd from Scott--
And Wilson the thanks in the field he had got--
And Leinster a visiting card of his rib's--
And Foley a draft upon--Howard and Gibbs!
For the Black Wig and her Character white.

But as to the rest it were tedious to sing,
How they sacrificed love of their Country and King,
To the Black Wig and her Character white.
Such talents, such virtues, how much they surpass
Baring's stock, Grenfell's copper, or Lushington's brass!
Endow'd with such treasures, who would not dispense
With the paltry account of pounds, shillings, and pence,
For the Black Wig and her Character white?

But when the great Lady was told of the kind
Of efforts the Whigs made for raising the wind
For her Black Wig and her Character white,
She rose in a fury, and roar'd out, "God-zounds!
Run, Vizard, secure me Lord Liverpool's pounds;
Of the virtues of Whigs I have more than my share,
And their talents and truth are not worth half an hair
Of my Black Wig and my Character white."

[Music: OPPOSITION.

Sam Rogers proposed, To my Lady half dosed,
To indite a fine new compo-
si - tion, In which he might greet Her Ladyship's feet With
proof of his tuneful sub - mis-sion. Says Holland,
"Sam, you've my per-
mis - sion;" But my Lady has no dis-po - si - tion To
have her name seen With the friends of the Queen,
Or, in short, with the raff Opposition.]

We don't mean to rob
Poor Sam of his job,
But we have a shrewdish suspicion,
It will be fifteen years
Before it appears,
So painful is Sam's parturition;
He's not like the Northern Magician,
Who writes while he's shooting or fishing,
So we'll borrow Sam's hint,
And put into print
An ode to the Whig Opposition.

There's Tierney, the sly,
With his grey sunken eye,
Which rolls with a scowl of suspicion,
He hates all the Broughams,
And despises the Humes,
And sits with a look of contrition.
He pleads a sham indisposition,
And shirks in the House his position;
Nor can he be blamed
For feeling ashamed
To lead such a raff Opposition.

There is he whom they call
Squire Brougham of Brougham Hall,
Who would pass for a man of condition;
In blood, to be sure,
He may match Peter Moore,
But the Hall is a mere imposition;
The fellow's a hack politician,
A tailor in all but ambition,
Who offer'd to bilk
For a gown of black silk
The Queen--and her whole Opposition.

There's Wilson--poor Bob,
Who headed a mob,
And in consequence lost his commission,
Considers it hard,
That haranguing the Guard
Should be voted an act of sedition;
Besides, 'twas his greatest ambition
To witness one real ignition;
To shot and to danger
His skin was a stranger,
Till the day of the Park Opposition.

There's Sefton, who drives
His ladies by fives,
In a gig of the latest edition;
Which looks like a cart
Of the Guards when they start
With their wives on a Dutch expedition:
He greases with anti-attrition--
Would his tongue had the same composition!--
For, whenever he speaks,
It hitches and squeaks
Like the drag of the Bath Opposition.

There's little Spring Rice,
Of Newport the Vice,
Who was painted in last Exhibition,
Was ready to swear
That Limerick and Clare
Were dying from pure inanition;
But how did he mend their condition?
Did he visit those scenes of perdition?
No!--Erin was undone,
While he talk'd in London,
And smirk'd with the fat Opposition.

There's stultified Hume,
Who (some people assume)
Is an excellent arithmetician,
Began as a Tory,--
But honour and glory
Soon gave such an ass his dismission;
Now Joe was a sort of physician,
But being no frequent practician,
For want of another
Dissected his brother,
Though the corps made a strong Opposition.

There's the new _rara avis_,
The once Colonel Davis,
Now Statesman as much as Tactician,
He seems to presume
To emulate Hume,
But, in truth, there is no competition;
For Davis sold out his commission--
But Hume's more plebeian ambition
Is cribbing the winnings
Of Constantine Jennings,
The hopes of the whole Opposition.

Lord Althorpe, who bent
His way beyond Trent
To challenge a hostile collision,
At Ferrybridge found
He might choose his own ground,
And therefore abandon'd his mission;
Then--aware of the force of derision,
He spoke on some turnpike petition,
And explain'd, without end,
How he and his friend
Return'd to rejoin Opposition.

There's that little thing Bennet--
Once turn'd from the Senate,
On poor Tyrwhit Jones's petition,
The quack, from whom they,
Doom'd to Botany Bay,
So justly expect manumission.
For think what would be his condition,
If laws were to have no remission;
For, if folks don't tell fibs,
Messrs. Howard and Gibbs
Have claims on this pure Opposition.

The Grosvenor-gate fillies
May rail at Achilles,
And blush at his naked condition,
But Nugent's tight dress,--
Which we can't well express,--
Is, to us, a more gross exposition.
But strange are the freaks of ambition;
Which, when a man once sets his wish on,
If his head chance to fail,
He must try how his tail
Can give weight to a light Opposition.

There's Williams and Scarlett,
Who spoke for "The Harlot,"
With airs like the Greek Rhetorician;
Williams knows some small Greek,
But Scarlett can't speak
Plain English, without much tuition:[26]
In Cambridge, his great erudition
Stands as high as Lord Byron's Politian!
"Naked feet, naked feet"
Will kick through the street
Fat Scarlett and his Opposition.

There's Wood, who, for hops,
Goes offering to shops
An excellent new composition,
And proves that the plant,
The staple of Kent,
Is a Tory and vile imposition;
But he gets very little commission,
The folks eye his drugs with suspicion;
The profit much less is
Than getting Addresses,
Or plate from the Queen's Opposition.

There's Creevey, the crawler,
That under-bred brawler,
Once Clerk to the Indian Commission,
He told us himself
That the mere love of pelf
Had placed him in such a position!
A Negro exposed to vendition
Would have blush'd to have made such admission;
Yet the bird who at best
Bewrays his own nest,
Is the Phœnix of this Opposition!