But bless my heart, they can't be true; I'm sure they're all romance; John Bull was beat at Waterloo ! They'll swear to that in France. "Incipiunt magni procedere menses."-Virgil. (1830.) WE'RE sick of this distressing state Of order and repose; We have not had enough of late Our worthy fathers were content They thought they had a Parliament, It's no such thing; we've wept and groaned We've all been whipped and starved and stoned: We used to fancy Englishmen We've all been despicable slaves: It's time for us to see the things And vote the Church away; We'll put the landlords to the rout, We'll turn St. James's inside out We'll hear no more of Bench or Bar; We fear no bayonet or ball From those who fight for hire, For Baron Brougham has told them ali Lord Tenterden looks vastly black, Go pluck the jewels from the crown, And let the three per cents come down, If Cobbett is the first of men It was my father's wine,-alas! In this we toasted William Pitt, |