Ye gentlemen of Ireland Who live abroad at ease, A mighty little wonder ’tis That you are absentees. Give heed unto the newspapers, And they will daily show All the crimes――see the _Times_―― When the crimson drops do flow. All we that would live landlords Must bear arrears of rent, And little though we should be paid Or none, must be content; Or else, a tenant’s bullet Will quickly lay us low; With a ball he pays all, Whilst the crimson drops do flow. * * * * * Not Irish landlords only, Thus live in care and dread; Their stewards and their agents too May look to be shot dead. Whoever makes an enemy Is very soon let know, What is what, by a shot, When the crimson drops do flow. * * * * * If all conciliation Is wasted, nought remains But to renew an iron rule, Stern penalties and pain, At least empower our magistrates To cage each public foe, With the speed which we need When the crimson drops do flow. _Punch_, March 12, 1870. ―――― YE SCAVENGERS OF ENGLAND. Ye Scavengers of England! Whose cart one seldom sees Without unpleasant consciousness There’s something in the breeze! Leave other garbage to its fate, And here your prowess show! And sweep through the heap From King Street up to Bow; Where the struggle rages all day long, From King Street up to Bow! The Duke may wish you farther, The question try to waive; But, bear in mind, _that_ filthy slush Might prove his Grace’s grave! And should he, by some chance, go down _Himself_, he’d swear you’re slow, As ye sweep through the heap From King Street up to Bow! We boast we need no bulwarks Our social rights to keep; Yet, if we wish to purchase plums, We do it――ankle deep! And though we often, through the _Times_, Our indignation show, The while we roar, the loads still pour From King Street and from Bow; And the struggle lasts the whole day long, From King Street down to Bow! The dirty flags of Mudford At last shall have their turn! No more for rotting refuse prove A putrid public churn! So up, ye British Scavengers, A decent garden show, Where Duchesses henceforth may――leap! From King Street up to Bow! And thank their stars you’ve made a sweep From King Street up to Bow! _Punch_, October 16, 1880. This Parody was accompanied by a portrait of the Duke of Bedford, the owner of this filthy, inconvenient, and mismanaged market. ―――― TO MILLINERS AND MILLIONARES. _A modiste address by an Æsthetic Renegade._