Classic Poem

I.

F . When erst I coalesced with North,
And brought my Indian bantling forth,
In place — I smiled at faction's storm,
Nor dreamt of radical Reform .

II.

T . While yet no patriot project pushing,
Content I thump'd Old Brentford's cushion;
I pass'd my life so free and gaily,
Not dreaming of that d — d Old Bailey .

III.

F . Well! now my favourite preacher's Nickle ,
He keeps for Pitt a rod in pickle;
His gestures fright the astonish'd gazers,
His sarcasms cut like Packwood's razors.

IV.

T. Thetwall 's my man for state alarm;
I love the rebels of Chalk Farm; —
Rogues that no statutes can subdue,
Who'd bring the French, and head them too.

V.

F . A whisper in your ear, J — n H — ne,
For one great end we both were born,
Alike we roar, and rant, and bellow —
Give us your hand, my honest fellow!

VI.

T . Charles, for a shuffler long I've known thee:
But come — for once, I'll not disown thee;
And since with patriot zeal thou burnest,
With thee I'll live — or hang in earnest .