Classic Poem

Squire Baldwin rose with deep intent,
And notified to Parliament,
That I, it was a shame and sin,
When others were shut out, got in;
Asserting in his wise oration,
I gloried in my situation.
I own my features might betray
Peculiar joy I felt that day;
I glory when my mind is feasted
With dainties it has seldom tasted;
When reason chooses Fox's tongue
To be more rapid, clear and strong;
When from his classic urn Burke pours
A copious stream through banks of flowers;
When Barre stern, with accents deep,
Calls up Lord North and murders sleep;
And if his Lordship rise to speak,
Then wit and argument awake.
When Rigby speaks and all may hear him,
Who can withstand ridendo verum?
When Thurlow's words attention bind,
The spell's of a superior mind.
Now, whether I were Whig or Tory,
This was a time for me to glory.
My glory farther still extends,
For most of these I call my friends,
But if, Squire Baldwin, you were hurt
To see me, as you thought, so pert,
You might have punished my transgression,
And damped the ardour of expression.
A brute there is whose voice confounds
And frights all others with strange sounds;
Had you, your matchless powers displaying,
Like him, Squire Baldwin, set a-braying,
I should have lost all exultation,
Nor gloried in my situation.