Where angry ratepayers raise fruitless row;
But, bless you, these bold roarings turn to bleatings,
When they the cruel inquisition face
Of some austere Committee of Assessment.
Until I found myself in that dread place
I never knew what fogged and foiled distress meant.
Between them and my Landlord I've no peace.
I'm honest, but they treat me as "a wrong one."
I'm a Shopkeeper, holding a short lease
(My Landlord takes good care it's not a long one).
Once in seven years the Landlord lifts my Rent,
And once in five my Rates the Assessor raises,
Values, Gross, Rateable, so much per cent.?
Bah! the attempt to fathom them but crazes!
The only regular rule is--Up! Up! Up!
And any protest only brings upon you
Your Landlord's wrath, and cheek from some sleek pup,
Who bullies you; and laughs when he has done you.
"Pay and look pleasant," is the official rule,
And as to wife and child, and food and raiment,
You _may_ attend to them, poor drudging fool!
When of your Rent and Rates you've made full payment.
Yes, Rent and Rates! they are the modern gods,
And Moloch's tyranny was not more cruel.
With Landlord or with Vestry get at odds,
And you're gone coon; they'll soon give you your gruel.
Just now Vestrydom's victims are a-howl
With rage at skinning; but their indignation
Will fade, and they will feed the Official Ghoul
Until the next Quinquennial Valuation.