The Private Day and Feast are gone, The public comes to see, The poor Rejected grunt and groan. Nor speak with charity. The shillings flood the porter’s den, The Red Star sheds its ray,[29] Uprouse ye, then, my men of merry pen, It is the Opening Day. Now for the witticisms cheap, That sting with knat-bite power: The sentence based on hasty peep, And visit of an hour: Bewildered boobies (nine in ten) Admire our sportive way: Uprouse ye then, my men of merry pen, It is the Opening Day. Who heeds the painter’s saddened brow, The wolf he keeps from door, The pale wife’s timid trust that, now, His work shall swell their store? Let’s scare his hope and chance again, As boys pelt boys in play: Uprouse ye then, my men of merry pen, And slang him as ye may. SHIRLEY BROOKS. 1867. ―――― OUR OPENING DAY. (_Trio and Chorus for the Political Huntsmen at St. Stephen’s._) The _Ins_ and _Outs_ from rest are back, The Speaker’s in his chair. The talk-mill now resumes its clack, As birds begin to pair. The wild-fire quickens tongue and pen, Wit’s bow is strung to slay. Uprouse ye then, my merry, merry men, It is our op’ning day! _Chorus_――Uprouse ye then, &c. Both Whigs and Rads are wide awake, Unclosed are Tory’s eyes; The morning papers now will make Less room for fads and lies. Bewilder’d Cits through columns ten Once more will plod their way; Uprouse ye then, my merry, merry men, It is our op’ning day. _Chorus_――Uprouse ye then, &c. The _Cloture’s_ power own we now To silence faction’s jaw; Pat shall not raise eternal row, In spite of taste and law. Home-legislation looms in ken, England shall have _her_ day. Uprouse ye then, my merry, merry men, And use it as ye may! _Chorus_:―― Uprouse ye then, my merry, merry men! Uprouse ye then, I say! Fill up your horns, and let the glen Resound with echoes gay! The hunt is up, Brim high the cup, Big game we’ll bring to bay. Uprouse ye then, My merry, merry men, It is our op’ning day! _Punch._ February 17, 1883. ――――:o:―――― TO BE THERE. _Parody of a well-known Salvation Army Song._