Let plaster of Paris vanish, And down with the old Dutch clock; No ship of old England’s commerce Shall strike on French almond rock A fig for the choice Havanna, And down with the black Japan, And never a Turkish towel Shall dry a true Englishman. No more shall the Roman candle At the Palace of Crystal rise, And the famed Italian iron Shall the laundry-maid despise. No more shall the Russian leather Envelop an English book; No more shall a French bean simmer ’Neath the eyes of an English cook. ’Tis the cry of the bankrupt trader That floats upon every breeze; French rolls they have “bust” the baker, And the cheesemonger hates Dutch cheese. O, buy but the goods of Britain, By the hands of the natives made, And if they should charge you double, All the better for English trade. The “Lancet.” I knew some jolly people, all as happy as could be, Always eager for their dinner, always ready for their tea; Cheeks had they for ever rosy, eyes that glistened and were bright-- They could eat a hearty supper and sleep calmly through the night. They had neither pain nor aching, and, as none of them were ill, They had never taken physic and they paid no doctor’s bill. O, in all the British islands none were healthier, I ween, Or more happy and contented than the Browns of Walham Green. But one day, inside a carriage on the smoky “Underground,” Coming homeward from the City, pa a bulky journal found; ’Twas a _Lancet_, that some reader had forgotten and had left, So pa put it in his pocket--which of course was not a theft; If it was, upon the railway I’ve committed many crimes, For I’ve often in this manner seized and taken home the _Times_, But better, O far better, had that _Lancet_ never been On the seat in the compartment where sat Brown of Walham Green. Mr. Brown, he glanced it over while partaking of his tea. “Did you ever? Well, I never!” every moment muttered he; And he left his tea untasted, and he put his muffin down, And his manner altogether was so queer that Mrs. Brown Rose and screamed, “Good gracious, Thomas! what’s the matter--tell me true! You are going white and yellow, and your lips are turning blue;” And for answer out he read them all the awful things he’d seen In the _Lancet_, and a panic seized the Browns of Walham Green.