)
Curse the children!--this comes of reforming a nation:
Those meddling young brats have so damaged my peers,
I must lay in more cork for a new creation.
Them yonder's our bishops--"to whom much is given,"
And who're ready to take as much more as you please:
The seers of old time saw visions of heaven,
But these holy seers see nothing but Sees.
Like old Atlas[2](the chap, in Cheapside, there below,)
'Tis for so much _per cent_, they take heaven on their shoulders;
And joy 'tis to know that old High Church and Co.,
Tho' not capital priests, are such capital-holders.
There's one on 'em, Phillpotts, who now is away,
As we're having him filled with bumbustible stuff,
Small crackers and squibs, for a great gala-day,
When we annually fire his Right Reverence off.
'Twould do your heart good, ma'am, then to be by,
When, bursting with gunpowder, 'stead of with bile,
Crack, crack, goes the bishop, while dowagers cry,
"How like the dear man, both in matter and style!"
Should you want a few Peers and M.P.s, to bestow,
As presents to friends, we can recommend these:--
Our nobles are come down to nine-pence, you know,
And we charge but a penny a piece for M.P.s.
Those of _bottle_-corks made take most with the trade,
(At least 'mong such as my _Irish_ writ summons,)
Of old _whiskey_ corks our O'Connells are made,
But those we make Shaws and Lefroys of, are _rum_ 'uns.
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