Cobden arose, that slaughter-hating swell,
Dark eyes flash’d fire at eyes which flash’d again,
And Cobden felt a second William Tell,
Obsequious Hayter paled, and Pam’s bold visage fell!
Had’st thou but heard, O gentle reader mine,
The whispering talk, the noise of shuffling feet—
But mark’d the looks of men who wished to dine,
And dared not, for their lives, move from their seat,
Chafing within, without, with fervent heat,
Thou would’st have envied orators no more—