THE DIRGE OF AN ENGLISHWOMAN.
And ought the Queen of England's land
A gift to send by Norfolk's hand
To the old Pope of Rome,
His Jubilee to celebrate,
With Popish pomp, in grandest state,
In his Italian home?
Chalice and basin, richly made
Of shining gold; to him conveyed
By one of his trained band.
He used them both at his High Mass,
And proud of such a gift he was
From our dear native land.
Our own Victoria should be free,
True to "the rights" she swore when she
Sat in the abbey old;
And crown was placed upon her head,
And coronation oath she said
Over God's Word, we're told.
Up, English men and women all!
To the red beast[2] ne'er bow at all,
But leave him to his fate;
For Babylon will surely fall,[3]
And with her, nations great and small,
Who follow in her wake.
In days of yore she sat a queen,[4]
On seven hills,[5] so vile, unclean,
And shed the blood of saints.
"Come out of her, My people"[6] all,
Nor of her plagues receive at all,
Or listen to her plaints.
The Ritualists are helping fast
To bring us now, as in times past,
Beneath the sway of Rome.
You silly men and (silly) women[7] all,
Oh, why take heed to them at all
Who creep into the home?[7]
Alas! alas! for England's Queen,
And English nation too, I ween,
If e'er the Pope gets sway!
True Christians ne'er will bend the knee
To kiss Pope's toe so impiously,
Nor pence to Peter pay.
N. P. W.
Southsea.
Nothing doth more hurt in a State than that cunning men pass for wise.