The Union of Name—That Union of Woe!
Which England compelled her to undergo,
When her hopes were lost, and her spirit was low,
In the dire confusion and slaughter fell,
That ensued from the terrible struggle to quell
Her People, whom tortures forced to rebel!
When those tortures, with bribes in money and place,
And titles (the badges of shame and disgrace!)
Played the game of that Lord, of name accurst—
The leader and chief—and by much the worst
Even of that vile crew, who basely bent,
And sold to England her Parliament
That sat in the House that Paddy built!
PUNCHIFICATION.
"On this head we have no apprehension: Mr. O'Connell may be a diverting mob actor, but he is not, after all, half so diverting as Punch."—Morning Herald.
Let England's old womanhood tremble no more,
Let the Peelites securely dine, breakfast, and lunch;
Though O'Connell makes burning harangues by the score,
Still he can't, or he will not, cut capers like Punch!
Though the wrongs of the people in number exceed
The potatoes that Irishmen saltlessly munch,
Let the cock-a-hoop Tories ne'er stop to take heed,
For—O'Connell's not half such a grinner as Punch!
There were mighty strange things done by Merlin of yore,
And queer tales are narrated of old Mother Bunch;
But a wonder like this was ne'er heard of before,
That injustice shall rule, since—O'Connell's not Punch!
And thou, Ireland, who stoodest so straight t'other day,
Thou stoopest anew like a man with a hunch,
Since the ass of the Herald came out with his bray,
That—in short that O'Connell's no puppet, like Punch!
