23
Now boasts Murœenæ Stragbourg pies and grouse,
And hang their tiny son in golden chains
Each link more weighty than the trio’s brains——
I’ve placed the donkeys—Devil take the ruck—
If they’re self satisfied, the more the luck
Those not yet posted, maybe bide their time
For harsher stricture in more pungent rhyme——
As for the Macs, be they Mac-adamised
As old in fancy as their hills so prized,
Beauty as lavish in their mind as form
Of equal temper, or in calm or storm,
Doomed for an age to gulp sour Camden wine
To gnaw the juiceless fibrine of lean kine,
From arid food, aridity of brain
Proves here predominant the curse of Cain—
Acid and broaxy have their pockets lined
While Times and progress are left far behind,
To ration rum they owe their happiest years
And fleece but followed on their grandsire’s shears
Obeyed the proverb “made house book and child”
I could descant, my muse cries “Draw it mild”——
The nondescripts the heterogeneous fry
The fabled Bunyips man can’t classify——
Were I to castigate each Justice hod,
I’d need the aid of Usher of black rod——
Misnomer Equity, Insolvents bleed
For stale statistics I refer to Reid,——
(Him of long stature and more lengthy head
As good at politics as cards’ its said
If you’d cull gleanings from his tale of tubs
Peer in at Perriers, reigning kings of clubs,
Polemics or picquet which ere he try
’Tis five to four he gains the victory.)
Who could a tale unfold of pounds and pence
Of nepotism, past and present tense———
The Council prints the trash for ‘Privy’ sake
That all, who run, may read, no “Reeds mistake”——
