Tory Pledges.

A poem by Thomas Moore

I pledge myself thro' thick and thin,
To labor still with zeal devout
To get the Outs, poor devils, in,
And turn the Ins, the wretches, out.

I pledge myself, tho' much bereft
Of ways and means of ruling ill,
To make the most of what are left,
And stick to all that's rotten still.

Tho' gone the days of place and pelf,
And drones no more take all the honey,
I pledge myself to cram myself
With all I can of public money.

To quarter on that social purse
My nephews, nieces, sisters, brothers,
Nor, so we prosper, care a curse
How much 'tis at the expense of others.

I pledge myself, whenever Right
And Might on any point divide,
Not to ask which is black or white.
But take at once the strongest side.

For instance, in all Tithe discussions,
I'm for the Reverend encroachers:-
I loathe the Poles, applaud the Russians,--
Am for the Squires, against the Poachers.

Betwixt the Corn-lords and the Poor
I've not the slightest hesitation,--
The People must be starved, to insure
The Land its due remuneration.

I pledge myself to be no more
With Ireland's wrongs beprosed or shammed,--
I vote her grievances a bore,
So she may suffer and be damned.

Or if she kick, let it console us,
We still have plenty of red coats,
To cram the Church, that general bolus,
Down any given amount of throats.

I dearly love the Frankfort Diet,--
Think newspapers the worst of crimes;
And would, to give some chance of quiet,
Hang all the writers of "The Times;"

Break all their correspondents' bones,
All authors of "Reply," "Rejoinder,"
From the Anti-Tory, Colonel Jones,
To the Anti-Suttee, Mr. Poynder.

Such are the Pledges I propose;
And tho' I can't now offer gold,
There's many a way of buying those
Who've but the taste for being sold.

So here's, with three times three hurrahs,
A toast of which you'll not complain,--
"Long life to jobbing; may the days
"Of Peculation shine again!"