POLITICAL SONGS AND SQUIBS.

THEODORE HOOK.FROM A DRAWING MADE BY MR. EDDISFor the collection of Mr. Magrath, long the respected Secretary of the Athenæum Club.

THEODORE HOOK.

FROM A DRAWING MADE BY MR. EDDISFor the collection of Mr. Magrath, long the respected Secretary of the Athenæum Club.

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

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 sentTo jail, for libelling Parliament,I might chance to circumventNext 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 makethatout,My boy Cammy?How do you makethatout,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 PapaWreck'd my prospects oféclat;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 outThey'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!

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 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 sentTo jail, for libelling Parliament,I might chance to circumventNext election, Lamby.[21]

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 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 makethatout,My boy Cammy?How do you makethatout,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!

How do you makethatout,

My boy Cammy?

How do you makethatout,

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 PapaWreck'd my prospects oféclat;I was never at the bar,Where I thought they'd ha' me.

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 oféclat;

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 outThey'll have a car, without a doubt,And, in triumph, all about,The biped beasts will draw 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!

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!

"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 HussarWere 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 'tI'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 wivesThe 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 beenWhat 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!

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.

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 HussarWere tried in any real war,'Tis thought he might be cooler.

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.

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 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 'tI'd rather thump an anvil.

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.

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 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 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.

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 wivesThe Queen's good taste inherit.

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 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 beenWhat others call erroneous.

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 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!

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!

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 wayMichael'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 tellsTales bewitching—tales bewitching;But they vanish, when he smellsMichael's kitchen—Michael's kitchen!Lawyer Brougham is next in rank;Prates like Babel—prates like Babel;He has never eat or drankAt 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 toνους,Cur of Burdett—cur of Burdett;Fired his pop-gun, but the HouseNever heard it—never heard it;He foresaw, from Canning's lash,Stripes too cutting—stripes too cutting,So he sneak'd away to hashMichael's mutton—Michael's mutton.Where was, on that famous night,Hume the surgeon?—Hume the surgeon?Who pretends to set us rightBy constant purging—constant purging;No division yet expecting—Fond of work, he—fond of work, he—At the moment was dissectingMichael's turkey—Michael's turkey!Fergusson his place may chooseIn 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 ReformNot three farthings—not three farthings.To yawn and vote let others stay,Who can bear it—who can bear it;They, much wiser, drink awayMichael'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 hordesMust grow thinner—must grow thinner,When plain Common Sense recordsMichael's dinner—Michael's dinner!

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 tellsTales bewitching—tales bewitching;But they vanish, when he smellsMichael's kitchen—Michael's kitchen!

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 drankAt 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!

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 toνους,Cur of Burdett—cur of Burdett;Fired his pop-gun, but the HouseNever heard it—never heard it;He foresaw, from Canning's lash,Stripes too cutting—stripes too cutting,So he sneak'd away to hashMichael's mutton—Michael's mutton.

Hobhouse, who pretends toνους,

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 rightBy constant purging—constant purging;No division yet expecting—Fond of work, he—fond of work, he—At the moment was dissectingMichael's turkey—Michael's turkey!

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 chooseIn 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.

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 ReformNot three farthings—not three farthings.To yawn and vote let others stay,Who can bear it—who can bear it;They, much wiser, drink awayMichael's claret—Michael's claret.

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 hordesMust grow thinner—must grow thinner,When plain Common Sense recordsMichael's dinner—Michael's dinner!

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!

MRS. MUGGINS'S VISIT TO THE QUEEN.Tune—"Have you been to Abingdon?"

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, tovi-sit the Queen, Ma'am, with the rest of the gal-lan-tyshow, show; with the rest of the gal-lan-ty show.

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 SeftonWould 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 bookOnly 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 soonFor 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.

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.

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 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 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 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 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.

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 SeftonWould sooner have left town,Both her and her daughters—than go——go,Both her and her daughters—than go.

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 bookOnly Fergusson, Taylor, and Co.——Co.,Fergusson, Taylor, and Co.

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 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 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.

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.

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.

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 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 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 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 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.

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.

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 soonFor any thing else but Noyeau——yeau,Any thing else but Noyeau.

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."

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.

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.

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 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 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.

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 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 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.

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.

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.'sTo 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,Withci-devantGrammont,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 hindersThe 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 inBy means they persist inOf even enlistingThe 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, orDiscuss 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 approachesAnd 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 callMummers, 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 settleThe State, if a kettleThey'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-edBy Royal desire!Old Parr gave his benisonTo Parkins's venison,But the pamphlet of TennysonHe 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 unburyAll 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 inThe honours of Austin,And Hownam, who crost inWith 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 itAs Dad did before;With Waithman the prate-man,And Pearson the plate man,And Matthew the great man,Who found us thehare.[23]

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!

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,Withci-devantGrammont,And (awful as Ammon)Her eloquent spouse!And frothy Grey Bennett,That very day se'nnight,Went down in his dennett,To Brandenburgh House.

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,

Withci-devantGrammont,

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 hindersThe 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.

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 inBy means they persist inOf even enlistingThe names of the dead!

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, orDiscuss what remains;—Except Mrs. Wilde,Who, for roast and for boil'd,While as cook-maid she toil'd,Was the pride of Devaynes.

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.

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 approachesAnd pull at the bell;And then they flaunt brave in,Preceded by Craven,And, clean and new shaven,Topographical Gell.

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 callMummers, 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!

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.

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 settleThe State, if a kettleThey're able to mend.

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-edBy Royal desire!Old Parr gave his benisonTo Parkins's venison,But the pamphlet of TennysonHe threw in the fire.

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 unburyAll 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 inThe honours of Austin,And Hownam, who crost inWith faint-away Flynn!

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 itAs Dad did before;With Waithman the prate-man,And Pearson the plate man,And Matthew the great man,Who found us thehare.[23]

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 thehare.[23]

"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 dameThe 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 DruryAre 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 delayThe Queen would be extinguish-ed,Unless the blusteringTimescould say,That some few were "distinguish-ed."Oh, poorTimes! 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 crowdThe Queen was thought unable,So Thorp, he begg'd to be allow'dTo 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 JewCut off his son for marrying."Oh the son! his figure would not please illOne 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 dislikesThese 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 producesWhat he calls his family;It is a mode he oddly choosesDown 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 QuireFor 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.

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 delayThe Queen would be extinguish-ed,Unless the blusteringTimescould say,That some few were "distinguish-ed."Oh, poorTimes! how sad a scrape you have got in,Whose proud distinction is at best, 'twixt addled eggs and rotten.

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 blusteringTimescould say,

That some few were "distinguish-ed."

Oh, poorTimes! 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 crowdThe Queen was thought unable,So Thorp, he begg'd to be allow'dTo 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.

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."

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 JewCut off his son for marrying."Oh the son! his figure would not please illOne whose taste might chance to lie between an owl and weasel.

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 dislikesThese 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.

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.

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 producesWhat he calls his family;It is a mode he oddly choosesDown 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?

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 QuireFor 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.

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.

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.

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 sorrowFill each office corridor;Castlereagh cries—"From to-morrow,Statesmen, ye must dine no more!"No more let's see each office man onFoot, 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 tableA 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 lothSuch splendid guests to entertain;So Western shall be Barley-broth,And Wood aPotage à la Reine!"Mulligatawney, or Scotch porridge,Either, Mackintosh may be;And—(not his merits to disparage),Spring Rice isPrintanier au ris."For fish—that bench the Speaker's left onOut-rivals Groves', to all beholders;No one can see my good Lord SeftonBut 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 dishNe'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 crackHis 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 oneWho 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 apetit pâté."Hobhouse is Cow-heel—which to cramWould 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, fringedAnd 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 HeleyHutchinson'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!"

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

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 onFoot, about the hour of seven,Teazing Arbuthnot and Duncannon,To find a pair until eleven.

"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.

"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.

"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.

"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.

"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.

"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 tableA cloth—(no matter what its hue),The Chaplain, fast as he is able,Says grace, and bids us all fall to.

"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 lothSuch splendid guests to entertain;So Western shall be Barley-broth,And Wood aPotage à la Reine!

"Without four soups, I should be loth

Such splendid guests to entertain;

So Western shall be Barley-broth,

And Wood aPotage à la Reine!

"Mulligatawney, or Scotch porridge,Either, Mackintosh may be;And—(not his merits to disparage),Spring Rice isPrintanier au ris.

"Mulligatawney, or Scotch porridge,

Either, Mackintosh may be;

And—(not his merits to disparage),

Spring Rice isPrintanier au ris.

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

"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?

"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 dishNe'er lay a thicker or a rounder;Palmer's an undoubted fish,And flat enough to be a flounder.

"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 crackHis scarlet shell and straggling claws;Old Markham is a muddy Jack;And Warre and Davis Shrimps for sauce.

"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!

"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 oneWho liked Calves-head without the brain;Rump-steaks we'll slice from generous Gordon,There 'tis cut and come again!

"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 apetit pâté.

"Creevey's Tripe, unsavoury stuff,

Fit meat alone for dog or cat he;

Henry Bennett is a Puff;

And Ossulston apetit pâté.

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

"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, fringedAnd garnish'd round with many a nottice.

"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!

"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 HeleyHutchinson's an Irish-stew.

"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!

"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!"

"Come, then, hungry friends, fall to 't,

And, if patiently ye dine,

Kind Liverpool shall find ye fruit,

And jovial Bathurst choose your wine!"

Tune-"Bow, wow, wow."

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