A Bradlaugh Ballad.
I am the Demagogue of the day,
And down ’mongst the mob I make my way,
It’s years since of poverty I felt a nip
Good store of the Sovereigns I love fill my scrip
Republican patter I merrily chant
Wherever I stump no money I want;
And why I’m so plump the reason I’ll tell—
Who fattens on martyrdom’s sure to live well: