Monday, March 13, 1826
The Budget – quite charming and witty – no hearing,
For plaudits and laughs, the good things that were in it;
Great comfort to find, though the Speech isn’t cheering,
That all its gay auditors were, every minute.
What, still more prosperity! – mercy upon us,
“This boy’ll be the death of me” – oft as, already,
Such smooth Budgeteers have genteelly undone us,
For Ruin made easy there’s no one like Freddy.
Much grave apprehension express’d by the Peers,
Lest calling to life the old Peachums and Lockitts
The large stock of gold we’re to have in three years,
Should all find its way into highwayman’s pockets!
Little doing – for sacred, oh Wednesday, thou art
To the seven-o’-clock joys of full many a table
When the Members all meet, to make much of that part
With which they so rashly fell out in the Fable.
It appear’d, though, to-night, that – as churchwardens, yearly,
Eat up a small baby – those cormorant sinners,
The Bankrupt-Commissioners bolt very nearly
A moderate-siz’d bankrupt, tout chaud, for their dinners!
Nota bene – a rumour to-day, in the City,
“Mr. R-b-ns-n just has resign’d” – what a pity!
The Bulls and the Bears all fell a sobbing,
When they heard of the fate of poor Cock Robin;
While thus, to the nursery tune, so pretty,
A murmuring Stock-dove breath’d her ditty:
“Alas, poor Robin, he crow’d as long
And as sweet as a prosperous Cock could crow;
Was a pitch too high for Robin to go.
Who’ll make his shroud?”
“I,” said the Bank, “though he play’d me a prank,
When I have a rag, poor Rob shall be roll’d in ‘t,
With many a pound I’ll paper him round,
Like a plump rouleau – without the gold in ‘t.”