Conservatives of England; A light enlightening burn To help the poor and guide the rich Right Members to return. Then, then, you ranting Radicals, Our song and feast shall flow, As we tell how you fell When the nation struck the blow, How the battle was uncommon short When the nation struck the blow. _A Pen’orth o’ Poetry for the Poor_, London, 1884. ―――― PARODIES BY A PREMIER. (_Addressed to the L――――s of the A――――y._) “Ye Mariners of England,” (I’ll term you if you please), Whose brag has raised, a hundred times, A Parliament’ry “breeze!” Your gallant features blanch again Beneath another blow. As ye creep down the steep “Companion” stairs below; While the crisis rages loud and long, And you have to keep below. “The spirits of your fathers” Won’t “start from every wave”―― For the deck “it was their field of fame,” And Kensal Green “their grave,” “Where Blake and mighty Nelson fell” You’ll have no chance to go, Nor to creep down the steep “Companion” stairs below; While the crisis rages loud and long, And you have to keep below. “Britannia needs” her “bulwarks” And “towers along the steep;” Her ships crawl “o’er the mountain waves,” Her navy’s “on the cheap,” With blunders from her naval L――ds She riles the tars below, And they swear――you’re aware―― “When the stormy winds do blow,” ’Cause their awkward squadrons all go wrong, “When the stormy winds do blow.” “The meteor flag of England Shall yet terrific burn”―― They say――when Liberal L――ds depart, And Tory ones return. Then, then, ye ocean-amateurs! Their song and jest shall flow, To make game of your name When you’ve ceased to go below; When my fiery flights are heard no more, And you’ve ceased to go below. _The Globe_, June 18, 1885. ―――― SONG AT SCARBOROUGH. _During the Match Gentlemen of England_ v. _Players of England, September_ 3, 1885. Ye Gentlemen of England, Who smite for twos and threes, One bat has swiped for twenty years, That bat is W. G.’s. That wondrous willow waves again To match the old, old foe, And spanks through their ranks Whilst the bowlers puff and blow, Though Tom Emmett sends them swift and straight, And the “field” do all they know.