Who Kill'd Cock Russell?
I, said Bob Peel,
The political eel,
I kill'd Cock Russell.

Who saw him die?
We, said the nation,
At each polling station,
We saw him die.

Who caught his place?
I, for I _can_ lie,
Said turn-about _Stan_ley,
I caught his place.

Who'll make his shroud?
We, cried the poor
From each Union door,
We'll make his shroud.

Who'll dig his grave?
Cried the corn-laws, The fool
Has long been our tool,
We'll dig his grave.

Who'll be the parson?
I, London's bishop,
A sermon will dish up,
I'll be the parson.