And one was round his Cobden!
“Go hence, go hence,” he cried in grief,
Across the stormy lobby,
“We’ll ne’er forgive our turn-coat chief,
Sir Bobby, Oh! Sir Bobby!”
’Twas true—the turn-coats vainly rave,
Protection’s friends preventing,
The Tories brave kick’d out the knave,
And he was left repenting.
From Protectionist Parodies, by “A Tory.”
Oxford, J. Vincent, 1850.