Punch (18.1850)

PUISCM. OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

THE CABINET CURTII

In the middle of St. Stephen's

The pit yawns deep and wide,
And Punchius, the augur,

Is sfanding at its side.
He hath watched the sacred chickens,

Hath marked them turn away
From their official pickings,

For the first time to-day.

And Punchius hath counted up

The tottle of the whole,
Of auguries and omens,

And scratched his wooden poll;
And after rumination,

From the seat where he doth sit,
Hath risen, in explanation

Of this portentous pit.

" Oh, Place-holders and Ministers,

And Whippers-in of Rome,
This is Retrenchment's pit that yawns

Beneath St. Stephen's dome."
'Twas no Association

Financial, out of doors,
Nor Hume, nor Henley bored it,

Though they be mighty bores.

It was a little crack at first,

That, in his scornful play,
Maecus Hillius would leap over,

As he passed to the gang-wity.
But still it waxed and widened,

And blacker, deeper, grew;
Till Russilus, beneath his hat,

Looked bilious and blue.

Cobdenius, the Tribune, swore.

The pit ne'er closed would be
Till they had cast into it,

Ten millions £ s. d.
Then a scornful laugh laughed Russilus,

And Palmeestontus sneered,
And the stout tribe of Tadpolii,

They mocked Cobdenius' beard.

So of the Ordnance Estimates,

And Naval, with regret
Were flung in half a million,

But the pit gaped wider yet;
And Gbaius whispered Pojssilus,

As he looked round on their train,
" What if we fling into it

A Treasury Lord or twain ? "

But Russilus right sternly chid

Such radical remarks :
" If victims there must be," said he,

"Fling in some score of clerks."
So hapless clerks and messengers,

And all that had no frieuds,
They pitched in fast and freely—

But still the pit extends.

Beneath the Treasury benches

It yawneth broad and black,
Aghast into its entrails

Gazes each Treasury hack ;
And forced up from the centre

By pressure from without,
The solemn boom of Public

Opinion swelleth out.

'I yawn, and will yawn wider,

Till ye throw into me
All idle sinecurists,

Whate'er their names may be :'
Gea.ii or Eliottii,

I hold in little heed;
No blood is sacred in my eyes,

Not e'en of Bedford breed.'

" Ye think to stay my craving

With poor, hard-working slaves;
What already is past shaving

Must submit to closer shaves ;
Ye fling over what the service

Of the country ill can spare,
That Wlriffgish lordling proteges

May still each keep his chair.

"I gap?, and gape still wider,

And gaping will go on,
Until 1 swallow ud this House

And Downing Street in one."
Then up and spoke pale Russilus,

" My earnestness to prove,
Lo, a Select Committee

On Salaries I move ! "

Then a weeping and a wailing

Round Treasury Benches goes,
Geaii and Eliottii

In anxious protest rose ;
But Pro'ectionists rampagious

In cheers their cries did drown,
For well they felt themselves had got

No salaries to cut down.