Why did Whigs the all engrossing, Take the place for which we toil, Tories now must keep them close in, Lest our future hopes we spoil. Think, ye ministers so grasping, Lolling on the Treasury boards, Think, what lots of us are gasping, For the sweets your place affords. Is it, as ye sometimes tell us, That our gracious sovereign, Bill, Gives you power to compel us To Reform against our will. Ask him if your Irish scourges, Taxes――acts that press like screws, Are the measures that he urges Lib’ral ministers to use. Hark! he answers, fierce coercion Washing Ireland’s shores with blood, Wasting towns, with a subversion Of the rights to which it stood. He foreseeing what oppression Erin’s sons must undergo, Kept the Whigs another session, That they might lay freedom low. (_Two verses omitted._) _Figaro in London._ March 9, 1833. NO. 2. LORD GREY’S COMPLAINT. Forced from place and all its pleasures, Treasury bench I left forlorn, To advance old Brougham’s measures, In his cunning _caput_ born. All my former colleagues sold me, Ousted me by tricks that told; But though _out_ at last they’ve bowl’d me, Whigs are always to be sold. Still in principle as ever, I can shortly change my mind; Join the Tories, ’twould be clever, Leaving former friends behind. Whig professions, Tory practice, Both may sometimes kindred claim; Names may differ, but the fact is Whig and Tory are the same. Why did all creating nature Make us wish for place to toil, Lies must earn it――which we ought to Shun, lest we our souls should soil. Think ye Ministers while boasting, Lolling at your treasury boards; How our souls must get a roasting, For the sweets that place affords? * * * * * _Figaro in London._ August 2, 1834. ―――― JUMBO’S JEREMIAD. Forced from fogs and all their pleasures, England’s shore I leave forlorn, To increase base BARNUM’S treasures O’er the foaming billows borne. Yankee scamps have bought and sold me, Paid my price――two thousand pounds; And because their bonds enfold me London with my roar resounds. Still in thought as free as ever, What is BARNUM’S right, I ask, Me from Regent’s Park to sever, Me to torture, me to task? In the Zoo I’m never beaten, Children hail me with three cheers; Buns unnumbered have I eaten To amuse the little dears. Like tall ladders wearing trousers Are the Guardsmen who have sat On my back, the red carousers, While they talked in loving chat With the nursemaid, prim and pretty, Who those soldiers so adore,―― Chat was theirs, both fond and witty, Shall I never hear it more?