PUNCH.—That was a great sentence. Had Sir Robert known his true fame, he would never after have opened his mouth.
READER.—Has the Queen sent for Sir Robert yet?
PUNCH.—No: though I know he has staid at home these ten days, and answers every knock at the door himself, in expectation of a message.
READER.—They say the Queen doesn’t like Sir Robert.
PUNCH.—I’m also told that her Majesty has a great antipathy to physic—yet when the Constitution requires medicine, why—
READER.—Sir Robert must be swallowed.
PUNCH.—Exactly so. We shall have warm work of it, no doubt—but I fear nothing, when we have once got rid of the women. And then, we have a few such nice wenches of our own to place about her Majesty; the Queen shall take Conservatism as she might take measles—without knowing it.
READER.—And when, Mr. PUNCH—when you have got rid of the women, what do you and Sir Robert purpose then?
PUNCH.—I beg your pardon: we shall meet again next week: it’s now two o’clock. I have an appointment with half-a-dozen of my godsons; I have promised them all places in the new government, and they’re come to take their choice.
READER.—Do tell me this: Who has Peel selected for Commander of the Forces?