Classic Poem

OF THE TWO HOUSES OF PARLIAMENT .

Come , step in, gentlefolks, here ye may view
An exact and natural representation
Like Siburn's Model of Waterloo)
Of the Lords and Commons of this here nation.

There they are — all cut out in cork —
The " Collective Wisdom " wondrous to see;
My eyes! when all them heads are at work,
What a vastly weighty consarn is must be.

As for the " wisdom, " — that may come anon;
Tho', to say truth, we sometimes see
(And I find the phenomenon no uncommon 'un)
A man who's M.P. with a head that's M.T.

Our Lords are rather too small, 't is true;
But they do well enough for Cabinet shelves;
And, besides, — what 's a man with creeturs to do
That make such werry small figures themselves?

There — don't touch those lords, my pretty dears — ( Aside .)
Curse the children! — this comes of reforming a nation:
Those meddling young brats have so damaged my peers,
I must lay in more cork for a new creation.

Them yonder 's our bishops — " to whom much is given, "
And who 're ready to take as much more as you please:
The seers of old time saw visions of heaven,
But these holy seers see nothing but Sees.

Like old Atlas (the chap, in Cheapside, there below,)
'T is for so much per cent . they take heaven on their shoulders;
And joy 't is to know that old High Church and Co.,
Tho' not capital priests, are such capital-holders.

There's one on 'em, Phillpotts, who now is away,
As we 're having him filled with bumbustible stuff,
Small crackers and squibs, for a great gala-day,
When we annually fire his Right Reverence off.

'T would do your heart good, ma'am, then to be by,
When, bursting with gunpowder, 'stead of with bile,
Crack, crack, goes the bishop, while dowagers cry,
" How like the dear man, both in matter and style! "

Should you want a few Peers and M.P.s, to bestow,
As presents to friends, we can recommend these: —
Our nobles are come down to ninepence, you know,
And we charge but a penny a piece for M.P.s.

Those of bottle -corks made take most with the trade,
(At least 'mong such as my Irish writ summons,)
Of old whiskey corks our O'Connells are made,
But those we make Shaws and Lefroys of, are rum 'uns.
So, step in, gentlefolks, etc.
Da Capo .

Air — The rosy brier.

M Y heart is sair with heavy care,
To think on Friendship's fickle smile,
It blinks a wee, with kindly e'e,
When world's thrift runs weel the while.
But, let Misfortune's tempests low'r,
It soon turns cold, it soon turns sour,
It looks sae high and scornfully,
It winna ken a poor man's door.

I ance had siller in my purse,
I dealt it out right frank and free,
And hop'd, should fortune change her course,
That they would do the same for me.
But, weak in wit, I little thought
That Friendship's smiles were sold and bought,
Till ance I saw, like April snaw,
They wan'd awa' when I had nought.

Its no to see my thread-bare coat,
Its no to see my coggie toom,
Its no to wair my hindmost groat,
That gars me fret, and gars me gloom.
But 'tis to see the scornful pride
That honest Poortith aft maun bide
Frae selfish slaves and sordid knaves,
Wha strut with Fortune on their side.

But let it gang, what de'il care I!
With eident thrift I'll toil for mair,
I'll half my mite with Misery,
But fient a ane of them shall share.
With soul unbent, I'll stand the stour,
And while they're flutt'ring past my door,
I'll sing with glee, and let them see
An honest heart can ne'er be poor.