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
Of blunders or of blows;
We can't endure to pass our life
In such a humdrum way;
We want a little pleasant strife:
The Whigs are in to-day!

Our worthy fathers were content
With all the world's applause,

They thought they had a Parliament,
And liberty, and laws.

It's no such thing; we've wept and groaned
Beneath a despot's sway;

We've all been whipped and starved and stoned:
The Whigs are in to-day!

We used to fancy Englishmen
Had broken Europe's chain,
And won a battle now and then
Against the French in Spain;
Oh no! we never ruled the waves,
Whatever people say ;

We've all been despicable slaves:
The Whigs are in to-day!

It's time for us to see the things
Which other folk have seen;
It's time we should cashier our kings,
And build our guillotine;
We'll abrogate Police and Peers,

And vote the Church away;
We'll hang the parish overseers:
The Whigs are in to-day!

We'll put the landlords to the rout,
We'll burn the College Halls,

We'll turn St. James's inside out
And batter down St. Paul's.

We'll hear no more of Bench or Bar;
The troops shall have no pay;
We'll turn adrift our men-of-war :
The Whigs are in to-day!

We fear no bayonet or ball

From those who fight for hire,

For Baron Brougham has told them ali
On no account to fire;

Lord Tenterden looks vastly black,
But Baron Brougham, we pray,
Will strip the ermine from his back:
The Whigs are in to-day!

Go pluck the jewels from the crown,
The colours from the mast;

And let the three per cents come down,
We can but break at last;

If Cobbett is the first of men
The second is Lord Grey;
Oh must we not be happy, when
The Whigs are in to-day!

It was my father's wine,-alas!
It was his chiefest bliss
To fill an old friend's evening glass
With nectar such as this.
I think I have as warm a heart,
As kind a friend, as he;
Another bumper ere we part!
Old wine, old wine for me.

In this we toasted William Pitt,
Whom twenty now outshine;
O'er this we laughed at Canning's wit,
Ere Hume's was thought as fine;