THE MARTYRDOM OF ST. PAUL'S.
Oh, Charity! celestial dame!—I cannot call thee maid,
While ev'ry year thy children clear make such a grand parade.
Ah! 'tis a glorious sight to see thy little pauper brats
Parade the streets of Babylon like demi-drowned rats.
Before the sun's begun to run, they're startled from their nest,
And by their anxious mothers in the parish fin'ry dressed;
And how those mothers' hearts must leap with gratitude to see
Their offspring all so nicely clothed in that smart livery!
The girls all clad in worsted gowns, mob caps, and aprons white,
Like Lilliputian grandmothers,—a venerable sight:
The boys in pretty blanket coats of green or brick-dust red,
With tawny leather breeches, and a thrum cap on their head;
And then that splendid pewter badge, worth all the rest beside;
No medal worn by hero could inspire more honest pride.
While to the neighbours they're a mark of pleasant observation,
How must their happy mothers bless a parish education!
It is so very handy too, when in a crowd they're brawling,
To pick them out so easily, and save a world of bawling.
Oh! merry day of jubilee to every little sinner,
When ev'ry one receives a bun and goes without a dinner.
Ah, happy England! thou'rt indeed a charitable nation,
Thy charities thou dost without the slightest ostentation;
How proud it makes a Briton feel to view this glorious sight,
Tho' some there are too dull to share the exquisite delight.
I heard a surly cynic once thus vent his angry spleen,
As he with jaundic'd eye beheld the animated scene:—
"If this be Christian Charity, who loves abroad to roam,
"I wish, instead of coming here, that she had stay'd at home.
"I'm sure she has no feeling for those wretched little dears,
"Or she'd not make them into jam all in that place of tiers.
"Whate'er Sir Robert Peel may say, or Tory folks may shout,
"I'm sure the 'pressure' from within is worse than that 'without.'
"But little girls may swoon away, and little boys may bawl,
"None, in this age of intellect, now care for a child's call.
"The cannibals, who eat up folks, have always made a point
"To kill their two legg'd animals before they dress'd a joint;
"But Christian anthropophagites possess a nicer goût,
"And cook their flesh alive whene'er they make a human stew."
Thus did he snarl and grumble at this glorious institution;
Some enemy he must have been to Britain's constitution,
For he who'd seek to work a change by pleading for humanity,
Must either be disloyal or the victim of insanity.
JUNE.—"The Queen's Own."