He promised a title, a sinecure sly;
I acknowledged them both, and I asked for no more.
Was I right?—oh, I cannot believe I was wrong,
Though Whigs, King and People may shout their disdain;
In cursed schedule B. thou shalt not be kept long,
Sweet Tamworth, I’ll rat for thee over again.
By heaven! Rotten Boroughs I’d rather forswear—
The Reform Bill, I’d hug to my plausible breast—
Than lose thee, sweet Tamworth, thy Peel will yet share
Place, power and title—you know all the rest.