I'll show you presently, my friends, the way [He drops his bat, and places himself in the attitude of Crack! and where are they? We play not tip a run,' no touch and go;' We move but with a serious braining blow. In pure, untax'd religion, clear of sight, [POET CLINKER bows, and retires amidst great applause Enter a dense squad of Rectorized Spirits in full canonicals. They are led on by twelve Right Reverend Fathers in Mammon, in full uniform also, and bearing golden lyres. They range themselves along the front of the stage, the Bishops standing a pace in front at regular intervals. GRAND CLERICAL CHORUS, Accompanied by the golden lyres and the serpent. Wake, holy men! this missal is our shield, Enter a posse of Peers, led on by crimson-robed Figures on stilts, presenting front elevations of Queen Sinister, Dukes Bagnetlodge and Bloodmansdorf, the Earl of Oldenvice, Lord Normanrust, Earl Trampleneck, &c. They range themselves along one side of the stage. CHORUS OF PEERS. Lords of the earth, and pillars of its thrones, Our power electric doth men's bosoms search, 6 Enter the real representatives of the people, led on by Daniel O'Toole, William Flail, Editors of the True Luminary,' 'Weekly Ninetails,' 'Poor Man's Goliath,' Trade's Union Gazetle,' &c., with two or three Members of Parliament. They range themselves on the side opposite the peers. POPULAR CHORUS. Here stand we-living men, Who claim a right to live! Our fellow-creatures nought will give! SEMI-CHORUS I. Fire, earthquake, deluge, pestilence, and slaughter, SEMI-CHORUS II. But ye, inflated, self-idolatrous peers, Less mercy have than war, plague, deluge, fire; And ye, the evil fates, with clerical shears, Would leave us bare, while ye with unctuous fat perspire ! Enter Poet Clinker, with Junius Redivivus, Publicola, William Broadbrim, Will Samson, Tête-à-Tête, the Editor of the Black Book,' &c. They are followed by men bearing poles and placards, on which the word 'MILLION' is inscribed. They place themselves among the foremost of the Representatives. FULL POPULAR CHORUS. We are worn out with long delay, By shuffling Wig and barefac'd Block. SEMI-CHORUS I. Led by POET CLINKER, whirling his bat. Off with the poor man's tax; Shame, with a tongue of flame, Blister the noble's name Who advocates this game, Curs'd by the past and present times-and to poster ity! SEMI-CHORUS II. Led by the Central Committee of Trades' Unions. Thus do ye teach us every Sabbath morn; Of violence and strife; Of the problem of our life. You live by us, are hous'd and cloth'd; SEMI-CHORUS III. Led by three Poet-Mechanics. We do not seek, as priests aver, But we claim justice to the letter! GRAND CHORUS OF TRADES' UNIONS. A right we claim from nature, Of having large inheritance In the wealth that labour brings! A right in social state we have So long as plenty springs! Who shall deny there's plenty When we see fat priests and lords Wallow in wealth they can't consume, And then bequeath their hoards? [A long symphony of very rough music. Grand Solo, by CLINKER, with orchestral accompaniments. RECITATIVO. If men were born with outward marks of rank, In homage of such wondrous beauty! Coats, hats and shoes, large town and country houses, And walking, cloth'd like trees whom spring espouses, No. 97. We then should know there were earth-gods among us, [Thunders of applause, and thunders of opposition. ARIA. But since we find they're mark'd full oft In all things save the herald's craft, Aught rational for governing, But talk, sleep, drink, Wear out in wantonness, game, dance, and sing, Pride, wealth, disease, and the same glorious hoax ! [A continued uproar of applause, and aristocratic execration. CHORUS OF PEERS, With trumpet obligato. Tank! tank! too-too!-Rise, souls of fire, Trank-titty-hank !-Shall ages gone, Must peers-trank hank! Heed baying hounds-tra ting, too-too! Large tax-trank trank! Because men starve?-hank hank, too-too! [Shouls of applause; in which the people join, carried beyond themselves by its excellence! CHORUS OF PLOUGHMEN. Led by William Flail. Off with the malt-tax now! That National robbery (of which The State is robbed-by many a leach ;) That makes the labourer wipe his streaming brow, E |