By auld London’s streets and lanes, By great Rothschild’s cunning brains, We will spend our hard earn’d gains But he shall be an M.P. Lay our proud opponents low―― Agnews[24] fall in every foe―― Parliament’s in every blow―― Opposition’s all my eye! _The Puppet-Show_, April 15, 1848. ―――― LOUIS NAPOLEON’S ADDRESS TO HIS ARMY. Guards! who at Smolensko fled―― No――I beg your pardon――bled! For my Uncle blood you’ve shed, Do the same for me. Now’s the day and now’s the hour, Heads to split and streets to scour; Strike for rank, promotion, power, Swag, and _eau de vie_. Who’s afraid a child to kill? Who respects a shopman’s till? Who would pay a tailor’s bill? Let him turn and flee. Who would burst a Goldsmith’s door, Shoot a dun, or sack a store? Let him arm, and go before―― That is, follow me! See the mob, to madness riled Up the barricades have piled; In among them, man and child, Unrelentingly. Shoot the men! there’s scarcely one In a dozen’s got a gun: Stop them, if they try to run, With Artillery. Shoot the boys! each one may grow Into――of the state――a foe (Meaning by the state, you know, My supremacy!) Shoot the girls and women old! _Those_ may bear us traitors bold―― _These_ may be inclined to scold, Our severity. Sweep the streets of all who may Rashly venture in the way, Warning for a future day Satisfactory. Then, when still’d is ev’ry voice, We, the nation’s darling choice, Calling on them to rejoice, Tell them, FRANCE IS FREE. WILLIAM E. AYTOUN. ―――― A BRITON’S ADDRESS TO HIS BROTHER COUNTRYMEN. Britons! at your country’s call, Freely live, or bravely fall; Honour’d death awaits us all, Death, or glorious victory. Now’s the day, and now’s the hour! See the front of battle lour: See approach proud Gallia’s power―― Gallia! chains and slavery! Who will be a traitor knave? Who can fill a coward’s grave? Who so base as be a slave? Traitor! coward! turn and flee. No――in this our sacred cause For Britannia’s King and Laws, Freedom’s sword each Freeman draws ’Gainst the insulting enemy. Who would fear, or who would flee? Fix’d is Britain’s destiny―― DEATH WITH GLORY WELCOME BE, IF NOT LIFE WITH LIBERTY. Briton! by thy wife’s warm tear, By thy spotless Daughter’s fear, By thy menac’d Altars swear THAT THIS ISLAND SHALL BE FREE.