What, then, now can stop his mouth,
In this hot age—in this hot age?
'Tis, if he would tell the truth,
Michael's potage—Michael's potage!
Hobhouse, who pretends to νους,
Cur of Burdett—cur of Burdett;
Fired his pop-gun, but the House
Never heard it—never heard it;
He foresaw, from Canning's lash,
Stripes too cutting—stripes too cutting,