No bishop or squire
Can hope to aspire
To the glorious height of the law defier.
After orating, of fame I dream,
And Cromwell-cum-Wilkes-cum Washington seem,
Myself as a model I mortify
With a thumping cupful of wine when dry;
I wear best broadcloth, black as sin,
My breeches pockets are lined with “tin;”
I’m Liberal with a strong Radical dash,