ROYAL NURSERY EDUCATION REPORT—NO. 3.
WHO KILLED COCK RUSSELL?
A NEW VERSION OF THE CELEBRATED NURSERY TALE, WRITTEN EXPRESSLY FOR THE PRINCESS ROYAL.
Who Kill’d Cock Russell?
I, said Bob Peel,
The political eel,
I kill’d Cock Russell.
Who saw him die?
We, said the nation,
At each polling station,
We saw him die.
Who caught his place?
I, for I can lie,
Said turn-about Stanley,
I caught his place.
Who’ll make his shroud?
We, cried the poor
From each Union door,
We’ll make his shroud.
Who’ll dig his grave?
Cried the corn-laws, The fool
Has long been our tool,
We’ll dig his grave.
Who’ll be the parson?
I, London’s bishop,
A sermon will dish up,
I’ll be the parson.
Who’ll be the clerk?
Sibthorp, for a lark,
If you’ll all keep it dark,
He’ll be the clerk.
Who’ll carry him to his grave?
The Chartists, with pleasure,
Will wait on his leisure,
They’ll carry him to his grave.
Who’ll carry the link?
Said Wakley, in a minute,
I must be in it,
I’ll carry the link.
Who’ll be chief mourners?
We, shouted dozens
Of out-of-place cousins,
We’ll be chief mourners.
Who’ll bear the pall?
As they loudly bewail,
Both O’Connell and tail,
They’ll bear the pall.
Who’ll go before?
I, said old Cupid,
I’ll still head the stupid,
I’ll go before.
Who’ll sing a psalm?
I, Colonel Perceval,
(Oh, Peel, be merciful!)
I’ll sing a psalm.
Who’ll throw in the dirt?
I, said the Times,
In lampoons and rhymes,
I’ll throw in the dirt.
Who’ll toll the bell?
I, said John Bull,
With pleasure I’ll pull,—
I’ll toll the bell.
All the Whigs in the world
Fell a sighing and sobbing,
When wicked Bob Peel
Put an end to their jobbing.