His steed was sprung of a Protestant race,
With a switch-tail strong and taper;
And he bounded along at a Protestant pace,
With an anti-papistical caper.

At Durham's deanery he stopp'd to bait;
At Auckland toók luncheon and wine;
He sipped noyeau at Bishopsthorpe gate,
And ventured at Buckden to dine.

And he thought the winter had shaken the Dean;
That the Bishop of Durham looked old;
That his Grace of York had grown pale and thin,
And that Lincoln had caught a bad cold.

On, on he rode, till on Saturday night

He came to his destination;

And he put up his steed, as was meet and right,
At the sign of The Reformation.

At St. George's Church, near Hanover Square,
He Protestantized on the Sunday;
Then he went to bed full of orthodox fare,
To dine with a Duke on the Monday.

On Monday he dined with a gallant Duke,
Where he met-fie for shame-with a harlot ;
Who greatly the Doctor's fancy took,

In her BABYLON robe of SCARLET.

She placed him at table in "affable pride,"
And pledged him in hock and sherry;
She trod on his toe, and she tickled his side,
And she made the Dean right merry.

Sweetly she murmured in accents mild,
"Oh F-turn to me!"

The Duke he nodded, the Dean he smiled,
And thought of a-vacant See.

Softly she spake of the loaves and fishes,
(The Duke kept his hand to his ear),
And she pampered F- with delicate dishes,
And whispered of congées d'élire.

When the Tuscan juice had filled each vein,
And he glowed with anticipation,
She led away Filly a slave in her train
To the sign of Emancipation.

With tender care she put him to bed,

And placed his lips in pawn,

With a MITRE for night-cap she covered his head,

And cased both his arms in lawn.

And thus in dalliance soft he lay,

Till the sun through the curtains shone ! But when he arose-alas, a day!

His Protestant spirit was gone.

Gone were his spirits, his books, and his song,
And all Protestant recreation;

And he took, in exchange, a treatise long
Upon Transubstantiation.

Then back to the northward hied the Dean,
And he rode on a Treasury hack,
And hand-in-hand with Papists is seen,
And on Protestants turns his back.

And his friends lament and his foes rejoice,
And bitterly tell of the day,

When he ridiculed yellow Lambton's voice,
And the dove-like demeanour of Grey.

When (like the cloud and the pillar of light,
Which the sacred historians say
Illumined the Israelites' camp by night,
And covered their journey by day),

For the Protestant cause, against Popish ire,

He stood with a patriot's zeal;

And the minister shrank from his pen of fire,

Like a child from the murderer's steel,

But the fire is out, and the pen

is still,

And the patriot's zeal is flown;

And the Church is left a tenant at will
To the Lady of Babylon.

Hereafter (if truth be in Christian creed)
The sentence will not be the lighter
On him, who deserted his Church in her need,
And bartered his faith for a mitre.

But of this sad apostate more deep is the shame,
And the punishment bitterer yet;

For the Dean is damned to eternal fame,
And the MITRE-HE NEVER SHALL GET.

THE GLORIOUS REVOLUTION;

OR,

THE HOISTING OF THE TRI-COLORED FLAG.

Lend me your ear-degenerate Peer,
Who fell into a trance

Of dull delight, at the holy sight

Of the Three Great Days in France,
And I will teach-if truth can reach
A brain by faction sway'd-
What an idle rout is made about

This Gallic gasconade.

From which arose that symbol of blood,
Those old tri-coloured flags,

Which British arms on field and flood
Have torn so oft to rags.

By freedom fir'd—and also hir'd
At fifty sous a-piece,

For ev'ry sous, each patriot true,
Made oath he kill'd a Suisse.

The long Boulevard, beheld the guard,
All scatter'd in a trice;

And Freedom's sons, took the despot's guns,
While the dandies took an ice.
Grisettes so gay, did Lancers slay,
With chimney-pot and tile,
And urchins small, with a pistol-ball
Kill'd twenty rank and file.

These heroes made a barricade

Which none of them could defend ;
And fired from the tops of houses and shops,
Where the others could not ascend.
Full nigh they drew, wherever they knew
The soldiers would not fire;

But whenever the foe prepared a blow

They hastened to retire.

What can repress cette brave jeunesse

The Polytechnic boys?

They ask no pay—but a holiday,

And leave to make a noise.

But France can't spare, des têtes si chères,

And over them keep a watch.

They shut up the door, till the fight was o'er,
So none of them got a scratch.

VOL. II.

D

But one can brag, that he captured a nag
Which belonged to a cuirassier,

And another can say, he found on the Quai
The cap of a grenadier.

The Victors find-(forgot behind)

A dozen of wretched Swiss,

So they cut their throats, and steal their coats,

Fine "moderation" this!

Oh, gallant Line, your fame shall shine,
Who fought on-neither side,
But gave up all-arms, powder, ball,
As soon as the mob applied.

The Crown to serve-and never swerve,
You" had an oath in Heaven;"

But what's an oath-when, nothing loth,
A Prince can break eleven? *

To end the thing, they shewed the King
And Angoulême the door,

As they'd have done, for the other son,—

But they murdered him before.

'Twas "Vive la Charte !" But do not start!
The Charte was soon suppress'd,

Four score of the peers they pulled out by the ears,
As they soon will serve the rest;

They took the crown and they pared it down,

And gnawed it like a bone;

They made a thing, called a Citizen-King,

And called his stool, a throne.

* "Voilà le douzième" some say it was "Voilà le treizième."