The Whigs they sink backward, dismayed at his “hand;”
But the Leader, douce man, says “Just e’en let him be,
For the party must stick to that deil o’ J. C.”
“Come fill up,” &c.
There are games beyond Gladstone, and fields beyond Forth;
If there’s farms in the Southland, there’s crofts in the North;
There are braw whiskey-drinkers, three thousand times three,
Who’ll “go blind” on the system of jawing J. C.
“Come fill up,” &c.
“Then away to the garrets, the cellars, and slums—