PUNCH,
OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

Ye Moderates of London

Who sat at home at ease,

Ah! little did you think upon

The dangerous C.C.'s!

While comfort did surround you,

You did not care to go

To remote

Spots to vote

When the stormy winds did blow.

The voter should have courage

No danger he should shun;

In every kind of weather

All sorts of risks should run.

Not he! So bold Progressives

Will tax him, and he'll know

He must pay

In their way,

Which is neither sure nor slow.

But when the Thames Embankment,

The finest road in town,

Is riotous with tramcars,

Will that make rates come down?

Will all these free arrangements,

Free water, gas, do so?

Oh, they may!

Who can say?

And the Companies may go.

When LIDGETT and McDOUGALL

Are censors of the play,

We can patronise the Drama

In a strictly proper way;

When PARKINSON's Inspector

Of Ballets, we shall know

He will stop

Any hop

If he sees a dancer's toe.

Such grandmaternal rulers

Will settle life for us,

And Moderates, escaping

All canvassing and fuss,

Can still, from cosy firesides,

Through three long years or so,

Watch whereat

Jumps the cat,

And which way the wind does blow.

Oh, LOCKWOOD the Lecturer hath a rare store

Of jo-vi-a-li-tee

Of quips, and of cranks, with good stories galore,

For a cheery Q.C. is he!

A cheery Q.C. and M.P.

With pen and with pencil he never doth fail,

And every day he hath got a fresh tale.

"A Big-vig on Pig-vig," he quaintly did say,

When giving his lecture at York t'other day.

For Ho! ho! ho!

FRANK LOCKWOOD can show

How well he his DICKENS

Doth know, know, know!

Chorus.—For Ho! ho! ho! &c.