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In which opinion I can’t quite concur
No, wisest mortals are least apt to err
Yet, for that head, should my desires incline
In bran new tile, I’d offer four-and-nine.—
Mid such a motley mass of parvenus,
The scourges puzzled where the last lash to use—
Legion, the name of this besotted race
May Charon waft each to his proper place,—
The learned Magnates of the City Bench
Who live on crime, in atmosphere of stench
As Dowlan Leary—shall I call the main?
By Jove ’tis Nick—don’t envy them their gain.
The dirtiest office finds a ready mob
And nightman’s wages,’ fall to nightman’s job,
Poor Dowlan’s honest (rather apt to pry)
Can’t say the same of his fraternity
From childhood plodded on till now, to cry
I’m paid for work and not ability
That midday meal vexated health requires
It is my dinner, and saves kitchen fires.[1]
The sword of Gideon flames in wild career
The great Dundas Tactician Volunteer
The gawky Scot and Diggins Chronicler.
If such recruits as this, stiff Brown, can drill,
He well deserves a testimonial
Of solid gold:—not gilding of the pen
If louts, like these, ere move like gentlemen—.
The Hero see of Constitution Hill
Whose head grows lighter as his pockets fill,
(Bold lucky private who secured the boy
An idiot playing with unloaded toy)——
A grateful sovereign raised him from the ranks
Place and promotion testify her thanks
See now he stalks with consequential force,
Learned too to ride!——a beggar on a horse,
- ↑ The grave and deliberate Seigniors debated for 6 hours, whether parr Dowlan should have an hour at midday to devour his bread and chop.—The £100 for cabbage was negatived.—
