242 March Night- Thoughts of Gog and Magog. [MARCH, 



Down fell his club with crash profound ! 

 The ghosts of Sheriffs gibbered round ; 

 And Aldermen, no longer men, 

 Flocked, fat and fungous, round the den, 

 Though all their bulk was empty air 

 A nothing like a last year's Mayor ! 



GOG. 

 " How long will PEEL for place keep boring, 



Still swearing that he hates the thing ? 

 Or DAWSON keep his tale encoring 



Both true alike to God and King ? 

 Or pious GOULBURN cease to pray 

 Four times a year for quarter-day ?" 



MAGOG. 

 " How long will BROUGHAM in Chancery ride, 



Kicking the Masters from their stools ? 

 Or HUME display the ass's hide ? 



Or WOOD and HUNT be noisy fools ? 

 Or gallant GRAHAM redeem the pledge 

 That set old BATHURST'S teeth on edge ?" 



GOG. 

 " Now, Brother, let me put a case, 



Plain as the crack in STANHOPE'S skull 

 Plain as the nose in MORPETH'S face : 



How long will England's purse be full, 

 When robbed alike by foes and friends 

 Said purse is open at both ends ?" 



MAGOG. 

 " Now, Brother, for your case take mine : 



How long will JOHN BULL bear the saddle 

 That galls the marrow in his spine, 



If all he gets is change of twaddle, 

 Whoever rides him, Whig or Tory ? 

 My question's like the nose before ye ?" 



The Brother-Giant looked awhile, 

 Like HUME, the grimmer for his smile;] 

 Then let his wooden eyelids sink, 

 Like Melville when he strives to think ; 

 Then, like the ocean on the shore, 

 Sent through the hall his solemn roar. 



GOG. 

 " How long shall this Lord's cousins' cousins, 



And that Lord's tribe of dancing daughters, 

 And t'other' s nameless friends by dozens, 



From John Bull's bottle sip the waters ? 

 Reform be taxes, places, pensions ? 

 And Humbug have the ' best intentions ?' " 



MAGOG uprose ; but clamours broke 



From roof to floor a general screech ! 

 A thousand phantoms screamed, " spoke ! spoke !" 



Thick as when Limerick makes a speech. 

 Were MAGOG gifted like CHARLES WYNN, 

 Or BEXLKY'S self, he must give in ! 



