No, we will never leave it, By oaths let us avouch, As long as mountain dew exists, And plack is in the pouch. Ye Parliament oppressors, Who Scotia ne’er could quell, Our fathers fought ye stoutly,―― Their sons can fight as well! _The poet then recounts the fight between the lovers of Whiskey, and the Temperance party, led on by Forbes Mackenzie, in which, after a tremendous struggle, Whiskey is triumphant_:―― Glenlivit’s joyous victors With cheers the welkin rent, And home was Forbes Mackenzie Upon a shutter sent. Now you who hear this story, Don’t doubt it, if you please; Have I not told you things before As wonderful as these? Why should you doubt a legend Because ’tis nearer home? Or can no fables please you But those that come from Rome? This parody, which consists of 25 verses, is to be found in _Rival Rhymes in Honour of Burns_, by Ben Trovato. London. Routledge and Co. 1857. This book is generally ascribed to Samuel Lover, the novelist. ―――― LAY OF MODERN ENGLAND. Augustus Smith, of Scilly, By Piper’s Hole he swore That the proud Lord of Brownlow Should keep the waste no more. By Piper’s Hole he swore it, And named a trysting night, And bade his myrmidons ride forth, By special train from London’s north, To venge the Common Right. Where on the street of Drummond Four Doric columns frown, Where the gigantic Stephenson On his own line looks down, The stalwart navvies gathered, From lodgings far and near; Strong were the crowbars in their hands, Stronger their hope for beer. Loured the foul London gaslights, And made the gloom more deep, The million-peopled city’s sons Were in their early sleep, When from the Euston Station Glided the special train That bore the force that went to win Berkhampstead’s waste again. On, the steam-demon bore them, Nor flagged upon the wing, Until he lighted with his load At Baptist-chapelled Tring. They marched three miles in silence, The road was dark and drear, One thought upheld the navvy’s heart The pleasant thought of beer. They reached Berkhampstead Common Or that which had been one, Until by Ashridge’s proud Lord The feudal deed was done. There, miles of iron railing Scowled grimly in the dark, Making what once was Common, The Lord of Brownlow’s Park: His rights that Lord asserted, Rights which they hold a myth, The bold Berkhampstead Commoner, Led by Augustus Smith. Spoke out the nameless Leader, “That Railing must go down” Then firmer grasped the crowbar Those hands so strong and brown, They march against the railing, They lay the crowbars low, And down and down for many a yard The costly railings go.