Says Old King Cole, the savage old soul, As savage as ever could be; “I want it to smash, and crash, and to dash, The Ed. of the TOMAHAWKIE?” Says Captain Coles while his eyeball rolls, As savage as ever you see; “I heard he had threatened you with 68 pound, Of the finest gunpowder tea!” Says Old King Cole, the savage old soul, As savage as ever could be; “If you’ll only lend me a turret ship, I’ll soon annihilate he!” _The Tomahawk._ September 7, 1867. ―――― YOUNG KING COAL.[35] _New Version of an Old Song._ Young King COAL was a merry young soul, And a merry young soul was he; He called for his pipe, and he called for his bowl, And he called for his fiddlers three. There was CHAMBERLAININI, and HARTINGTONINI, And, GOSCHENI to make up the three; For young King C., oh, was fond of a tri-o, Very fond of a trio was he. Young King COAL left his rivals in the hole, When he took the Chancelle-rie Of the British Exchequer, and, to keep up their pecker, They slanged him unmercifull-y. So himself to cloak from the very provoking jeers of the Rad Part-y, Young King COAL their old mantle stole, And a very smart Rad made he. Young King COAL loved “smoking” in his soul, And his Brummagem Best Bird’s-eye, And his “Cavendish,” went faster than was pleasing to the master Of the House where his new baccy’s he would try. And our young King C., and his fiddlers three, Thy kicked up such a shine and such a fume, Mr. IRVING’S worst witch-riot in a _Faust_-scene’s clear and quiet, To the Tory-Democratic Big Boom. Young King COAL he called for his bowl, And he called for his fiddlers three, And he served ’em out a dozen pounds of best Union rosin, And they all played a symphonee. CHAMBERLAININI and GOSCHENI played like STRAUSS and like ZERBINI, And then HARTING-TON-I-NI Played “_God Save the Queen!_” and the others all joined in, In a way to make a patriot pipe his eye. Young King COAL he laid down his bowl, And a dickens of a speech made he; And he talked so loud that he frightened half the crowd, And broke up the symphonee. At least some (in the Chorus) cried, “_This_ music can’t be for us,” But as for those fiddlers three, Whilst the Chorus cried, “We’re diddled!” they symphonically fiddled, And muttered “O, fiddlededee!”