Do my writings continue to tell? Does the public attend to my lines? O say that my Newspapers sell Though the money must go for my fines! How fleet is the growth of a fib! The astonishing speed of its flight Outstrips the less mischievous squib Let off on a holiday night. Then who would not vamp up a fudge, When he knows how it helps off his papers Were it not――that the thought of the judge Overcasts him, and gives him the vapours? But Cobbett has got his discharge―― _The beast_ is let loose from his cover; Like him I shall yet be at large, When a couple of years shall be over. For law must our liberty give, Though _Law_ far a while may retard it Even I shall obtain it, who live By sapping the bulwarks that guard it. This parody was given in Volume IV. (Part 41) of this collection, with George Cruikshank’s caricature of the Prince Regent, “The Dandy of Sixty Who bows with a grace, And has taste in wigs, collars, Cuirasses and lace,” but it is necessary to repeat it here in its proper place, under the poet Cowper. ―――― VERSES. (_Supposed to have been written by Arthur, Duke of Wellington, during his late solitary visit to Downing Street._). However horrible may have been the situation of that wretched man Alexander Selkirk, the Duke of Wellington’s place in 1832 must have been equally appalling. Thrown by the sea of politics on the rock of Government, out of the reach of all help, he found himself Prime Minister of England, without a single associate in his solitary Administration. I am master of all I survey, My right there is none to dispute, All the cormorants feeding on pay; Yes, I’m Lord of each time-serving brute. Oh Premiership! where are the charms I formerly saw in thy face? Better herd with the underling swarms, Than alone in my horrible place. I am out of humanity’s reach, I must make up my council alone; I am taxed by my foes in each speech, And they cough at the sound of my own. The clerks that loll over the desks, My form with indifference see; The supplies will, they know, meet with checks, Oh! their apathy’s shocking to me. Ye Liberals-aye, even more, Whigs, Radicals, either or both, Oh, had I ne’er ratted before, To join you I’d be nothing loth. My errors I then might atone, By supporting the BILL with all zeal, Though taunted with Winchelsea’s groan, Or jeered by the sallies of Peel. * * * * * _Figaro in London._ June 2, 1832. ―――― THE MONARCH OF ALL THEY SURVEY. (_By a Railway Director._) I am monarch of all they Survey, My right there is none to assail; O’er Great Britain Victoria may sway, I am lord of the Line and the Rail!