No, no, we nobler vermin are
A _genus_ useful as we're rare;
Midst all the things miraculous
Of which your natural histories brag,
The rarest must be Rats like us,
Who _let the cat out of the bag_.
Yet still these Tyros in the cause
Deserve, I own, no small applause;
And they're by us received and treated
With all due honors--only seated
In the inverse scale of their reward,
The merely _promised_ next my Lord;
Small pensions then, and so on, down,
Rat after rat, they graduate
Thro' job, red ribbon and silk gown,
To Chancellorship and Marquisate.
This serves to nurse the ratting spirit;
The less the bribe the more the merit.
Our music's good, you may be sure;
My Lord, you know, 's an amateur[4]--
Takes every part with perfect ease,
Tho' to the Base by nature suited;
And, formed for all, as best may please,
For whips and bolts, or chords and keys,
Turns from his victims to his glees,
And has them both well _executed_.[5]
HERTFORD, who, tho' no Rat himself,
Delights in all such liberal arts,
Drinks largely to the House of Guelph,
And superintends the _Corni_ parts.
While CANNING, who'd be _first_ by choice,
Consents to take an _under_ voice;
And GRAVES,[6] who well that signal knows,
Watches the _Volti Subitos_.[7]
In short, as I've already hinted,
We take of late prodigiously;
But as our Club is somewhat stinted
For _Gentlemen_, like TOM and me,
We'll take it kind if you'll provide
A few _Squireens_[8] from t'other side;--
Some of those loyal, cunning elves
(We often tell the tale with laughter),
Who used to hide the pikes themselves,
Then hang the fools who found them after.
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