9
Belay at Bellamy’s, imbibe the cheer,
The only sort you’ll ere call forth I fear;
Your flunkey stepson hover on your wake,
And flush your intellect with ale and cake;
Port Curtis Barataria missed your rule
And Sancho Panza mounts again his mule—
Oh “cloud Capt.” Brownne, oh, passim H.H.B.
What Demon tempted me to scribble thee?
Oh! whipper-in at tail of every hound
Where’er the carcase, you are surely found,—
Ships mate yourself, a mate you found at sea,
That one bright gleam reveals thy history,
Proclaims the interest vested in the land
Your step-sire’s mantle must on you descend—
Dead Reck’ning proves the acme of your skill
While living Immigrants your pockets fill,—
Why Sydneyites so long can harbor thee
Looms in my mind a sorry mystery.——
Supreme Attorney, oracle of law
I fain a veil would o’er your portrait draw
Those shrivelled features, indices of brain
Pronounce, that Bigotry will prove your bane,
The Jesuits cunning dictates every move
And Roman tramples on the Sydney Cove——
Great J.P. architect, be warned, beware,
Who live by logic, need to split a hair
Your Magistrates, the benches well adorn
Curs, caitiffs, cuifs, a byeword and a scorn.—
’Tis true some read, some write, or drink or swear
All barter justice, where all tip is fair
The master grinds the man—’tis snob prevails
E’en Jilks would fail to regalate the scales.—
Homage to beauty and to talent’s due
From Irish Judges and Attorney’s too,
Whether on stage or at drop scene they act
More pride of place were meet (a stubborn fact)
Than panegyric pen at any price,
Or keep a hostile for a cantatrice.——
