"On this head we have no apprehension: Mr. O'Connell may be a diverting mob actor, but he is not, after all, half so diverting as Punch."—Morning Herald.
Let England's old womanhood tremble no more,
Let the Peelites securely dine, breakfast, and lunch;
Though O'Connell makes burning harangues by the score,
Still he can't, or he will not, cut capers like Punch!
Though the wrongs of the people in number exceed
The potatoes that Irishmen saltlessly munch,
Let the cock-a-hoop Tories ne'er stop to take heed,
For—O'Connell's not half such a grinner as Punch!
There were mighty strange things done by Merlin of yore,
And queer tales are narrated of old Mother Bunch;
But a wonder like this was ne'er heard of before,
That injustice shall rule, since—O'Connell's not Punch!
And thou, Ireland, who stoodest so straight t'other day,
Thou stoopest anew like a man with a hunch,
Since the ass of the Herald came out with his bray,
That—in short that O'Connell's no puppet, like Punch!
Oh! there's only one chance that can save us from wreck,
And help Dan to get rid of his foes in a bunch—
That the puppet may break, by good fortune, his neck,
As the showman some night makes a tumbler of Punch!