The Budget – quite charming and witty – no hearing,
For plaudits and laughs, the good things that were in it; —
Great comfort to find, though the Speech isn't cheering,
That all its gay auditors were, every minute.
What, still more prosperity! – mercy upon us,
"This boy'll be the death of me" – oft as, already,
Such smooth Budgeteers have genteelly undone us,
For Ruin made easy there's no one like Freddy.
Tuesday
Much grave apprehension express'd by the Peers,
Lest — calling to life the old Peachums and Lockitts —
The large stock of gold we're to have in three years,
Should all find its way into highwayman's pockets![1]
Wednesday
Little doing – for sacred, oh Wednesday, thou art
To the seven-o'-clock joys of full many a table —
When the Members all meet, to make much of that part
With which they so rashly fell out in the Fable.
It appear'd, though, to-night, that – as churchwardens, yearly,
Eat up a small baby – those cormorant sinners,
The Bankrupt-Commissioners bolt very nearly
A moderate-siz'd bankrupt, tout chaud, for their dinners![2]
Nota bene – a rumour to-day, in the City,
"Mr. R-b-ns-n just has resign'd" – what a pity!
The Bulls and the Bears all fell a sobbing,
When they heard of the fate of poor Cock Robin;
While thus, to the nursery tune, so pretty,
A murmuring Stock-dove breath'd her ditty: —
"Alas, poor Robin, he crow'd as long
And as sweet as a prosperous Cock could crow;
Was a pitch too high for Robin to go.
Who'll make his shroud?"
"I," said the Bank, "though he play'd me a prank,
When I have a rag, poor Rob shall be roll'd in 't,
With many a pound I'll paper him round,
Like a plump rouleau – without the gold in 't."