that's flat.
The gallows, the stocks, and the pillory kept rebel rascals in hor,
But now every jumped-up JACK CADE, or WAT TYLER can give us his jor
Hot-and-hot, without fear of brave WALWORTH's sharp dagger, or
even a shower
Of stones, rotten heggs, and dead cats. Yah! The People has far
too much power
With their wotes, and free speech, and such fudge. Ah! if
GLADSTONE, and ASQUITH, and BURNS,
And a tidy few more of their sort, in the pillory just took their
turns,
Like that rapscallion, DANIEL DEFOE, what a clearance he'd have of
the cads
Who worrit us out of our lives with Reform, and such humbugging
fads!

MAGOG, _loquitur_:--

Ah, GOG, I am quite of your mind! Which I don't mind admitting
that KNILL
To a Protestant Giant like me was the least little bit of a pill.
Stillsomever, he's Lord Mayor now, and did ought to be backed up
as such,
For what City Fathers determine it ain't for outsiders to touch.
But where are the Big Pots? The Banquet seems shorn of its
splendour to-day.
No Premier, nor no Foreign Sec., nor no Chancellor!!! Really, I say
This is rascally Radical imperence! How can they _dare_ stop away,
From the greatest event of the year, when the words of ripe
wisdom, well wined,