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Wentworth and Windeyer are troublesome chaps,
And the Council's a thorn in your side, perhaps;
But let them grumble and growl their fill,
You know very well their power is nil.
Look at the schedules by which, 'tis clear,
You handle a monstrous sum each year;
Look at the patronage thrown in your gift;—
To give your backers a solid lift.
Look at the power you have to draw
On Downing-street when you want a new law;
Look at the lands that are unlocated,
Where droits of the crown are so nicely created;—
Then calmly proceed. * * * * *
Subdue by degrees, and slowly oppress,
Or I tell you you'll get yourself into a mess.
While people petition they'll find it a sell,
But don't push them too hard they might rebel.
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| Devil.
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It might be so; but just mark, my friend,
Who'll come to be losers in the end?
No doubt ther'd be fun well worth enjoying,—
Burning, and plundering, and destroying;
Fighting for towns not worth disputing;
Skirmishing, robbing, and rifle-shooting
From bushes and trees, and rock for barriers;
Murdering of postboys and plundering of carriers
Storming of camps by midnight entries,
Driving off horses and popping off sentries;
Seizures of stock for purposes royal;
Pressing of men to make them loyal.
Some heroes might fall in that petty strife,
Whom bondage had taught a contempt for life;
Some patriots leading in civil storms,
Might dangle on gibbets their martyr forms;
Or exiled afar, to return no more,
Might bury their bones on a foreign shore,
Proscribed by the tyrants they dared to brave,
And mocked by the people they sought to save.
But not in vain would they bear and bleed;
This land would have gained what most they need ;
John Bull from his drowsy indifference waking,
Would give you small despots a terrible shaking;
You'd be robbed of your berth and your reputation,
For causing your masters so much vexation.[1]
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