PARODY.
While Johnny Gale Jones the memorial was keeping,
Of penny subscriptions from traitors and thieves,
Hard by at his elbow, sly Watson stood peeping,
And counting the sums at the end of the leaves.
But oh, what a grin on his visage shone bright,
When, after perusing whole pages of shame—
'Midst his soi-disant betters,
In vilely-form'd letters,
The Doctor beheld little Waddington's name!
"Hail, imp of sedition!" he cried, while he nodded
His head, and the spectacles drew from his eyes,
"Magnanimous pigmy! since Carlile's been quodded,
We wanted some shopman, about of your size!
For, though many we've had, yet unbless'd was their lot,
When Murray and Sharpe with the constables came,
And for want of good bail
They were sent off to jail,
And their mittimus sign'd with an Alderman's name."
Then come, the last crown of thy toils is remaining,
The greatest, the grandest that thou hast yet known;
Though proud was thy task my placard-board sustaining,
Still prouder to utter placards of thine own!
High perch'd on that counter, where Carlile once stood,
Issue torrents of blasphemy, treason, and shame,
While snug in your box,
Well secur'd with two locks,
We'll defy them to get little Waddington's name.
"THE YOUNG MAY MOON."
(A Parody.)
The Old Whig Club is meeting, Duke,
'Tis now the time for eating, Duke,
How sweet to joke,
To sing and smoke,
While these foolish men stand treating, Duke!
Then harangue, and not in vain, my Duke,
At them again and again, my Duke!
The best of all ways
To speak in these days,
Is to steal a few thoughts from Tom Paine, my Duke!
Now all the Whigs are sleeping, Duke,
But the mob, through the casement peeping, Duke,
At you and your star,
Which we really are
Surpris'd at your meanness in keeping, Duke!
Go home, your task is done, my Duke,
The watchmen's boxes shun, my Duke,
Or, in watching the flight
Of traitors by night,
They may happen to take you for one, my Duke!