DOI issue:
July to December, 1852
DOI Page / Citation link:https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.16610#0266
258
PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI
W. B. AND SHREWSBURY FRAIL.
Ever since Wotin' fust begun,
Wotes and Woters made for sale,
Never a hustings job was done,
Like Major B.'s, and Shropshire Frail:
Major B. was a soldier hearty,
Frail bad lather*d many a chin;
One was the whipper-in of his party,
'T other the whip to the whipper-in.
'Twas at the Darby last eleetion,
Darby, where the Ram was born,
Rallyin' all who lov'd Purtection,
Darby, and the Tax on Corn:
That a hagent was detected
Up to his neck in Tory gold—
Buyin', as mite be expected,
All the wotes that could be sold.
Major B. had wrote to Frail,
" For a man as was safe an' good ;
Wich in his judgment wouldn't fail,
And his bisnis understood :
Wich to Darby straight should go,
Find at once the County Tavern—
Send up his card to Coxe and Co.,"
That is, if Coxe and Co. would have 'im.
Curious people always pester
Arter a stranger m thy town ;
He was to say " he come from Chester,
On his card have it written down."
This here hagent's name was Morgan,
Come in truth from the town of Shrews-
bury ; he was Frail's chief organ;
(i wouldn't like to stand in his shoes).
Morgan, actin' under orders,
Fell into a willan's snare:
Party spirit sutt'nly borders
On wots neither right nor fair.
In the town was Flewker, a lawyer,
Wich wos ow'd seven hunderd pound;
He'd been a tip-top Tory sawyer
Till he ask'd for his moneys round.
Bein' kep' out of wot he wos ow'd.
He wos nat'rally sore;
Said the Tories might be blowM,
If they would n't pay his score.
But hard by there liv'd a neighbour—
Tory Radford staunch and true—
Wich to win the other's labour
Told him wot was known to few:
Told him of the new Arrival:
" The hagent, with a heavy purse,
Was n't one to stick at a trifle ;"—
Brib'ry is the poor man's curse.
Morgan, arter he'd bin to Coxe's,
(Coxe was a Co. with many friends)
Isn't sure o' certain proxies,
'Cepting F. his int'rest lends.
Flewker, like a " base Judean,"^
Gammons now that he'll give his aid,
Goes to Morgan, gets to see 'im;
Morgan being a talkative blade,
Tells his wisitor all he's doin',
Where he come from—who he wos,
Show'd the mischief he's a brewin',
Show'd his orders plain and poz.
Show'd the traitor all his treasure—
Wich, be sure, he was glad to see—
Likewise, to enhance his pleasure,
Show'd the note sign'd W. B.
'Tis the Major's sprawly writin',
'Tis the Major's " Carlton Club;"
" Here's a bisness beats cock-fightin',"
Says the mean deceitful cub.
Off he runs to the Lib'ral party,
Peaches all wot he bas seen—
(Tied to the tail of the nearest cart, he
Tied and 'osswhipp'd should ha' been)—
Peaches where the hagent's stayin',
Peaches now to access gain.
Both the sign and pass betrayin'
So that Morgan might be ta'en:
" Make the sign of silence gravely,
Put your finger to your lip,
Say aloud, and say it bravely,
It's all right—I'm a Radeord Chip."
Mr. Moss of the Lib'ral faction,
Hears the artful Flewker's tale,
PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI
W. B. AND SHREWSBURY FRAIL.
Ever since Wotin' fust begun,
Wotes and Woters made for sale,
Never a hustings job was done,
Like Major B.'s, and Shropshire Frail:
Major B. was a soldier hearty,
Frail bad lather*d many a chin;
One was the whipper-in of his party,
'T other the whip to the whipper-in.
'Twas at the Darby last eleetion,
Darby, where the Ram was born,
Rallyin' all who lov'd Purtection,
Darby, and the Tax on Corn:
That a hagent was detected
Up to his neck in Tory gold—
Buyin', as mite be expected,
All the wotes that could be sold.
Major B. had wrote to Frail,
" For a man as was safe an' good ;
Wich in his judgment wouldn't fail,
And his bisnis understood :
Wich to Darby straight should go,
Find at once the County Tavern—
Send up his card to Coxe and Co.,"
That is, if Coxe and Co. would have 'im.
Curious people always pester
Arter a stranger m thy town ;
He was to say " he come from Chester,
On his card have it written down."
This here hagent's name was Morgan,
Come in truth from the town of Shrews-
bury ; he was Frail's chief organ;
(i wouldn't like to stand in his shoes).
Morgan, actin' under orders,
Fell into a willan's snare:
Party spirit sutt'nly borders
On wots neither right nor fair.
In the town was Flewker, a lawyer,
Wich wos ow'd seven hunderd pound;
He'd been a tip-top Tory sawyer
Till he ask'd for his moneys round.
Bein' kep' out of wot he wos ow'd.
He wos nat'rally sore;
Said the Tories might be blowM,
If they would n't pay his score.
But hard by there liv'd a neighbour—
Tory Radford staunch and true—
Wich to win the other's labour
Told him wot was known to few:
Told him of the new Arrival:
" The hagent, with a heavy purse,
Was n't one to stick at a trifle ;"—
Brib'ry is the poor man's curse.
Morgan, arter he'd bin to Coxe's,
(Coxe was a Co. with many friends)
Isn't sure o' certain proxies,
'Cepting F. his int'rest lends.
Flewker, like a " base Judean,"^
Gammons now that he'll give his aid,
Goes to Morgan, gets to see 'im;
Morgan being a talkative blade,
Tells his wisitor all he's doin',
Where he come from—who he wos,
Show'd the mischief he's a brewin',
Show'd his orders plain and poz.
Show'd the traitor all his treasure—
Wich, be sure, he was glad to see—
Likewise, to enhance his pleasure,
Show'd the note sign'd W. B.
'Tis the Major's sprawly writin',
'Tis the Major's " Carlton Club;"
" Here's a bisness beats cock-fightin',"
Says the mean deceitful cub.
Off he runs to the Lib'ral party,
Peaches all wot he bas seen—
(Tied to the tail of the nearest cart, he
Tied and 'osswhipp'd should ha' been)—
Peaches where the hagent's stayin',
Peaches now to access gain.
Both the sign and pass betrayin'
So that Morgan might be ta'en:
" Make the sign of silence gravely,
Put your finger to your lip,
Say aloud, and say it bravely,
It's all right—I'm a Radeord Chip."
Mr. Moss of the Lib'ral faction,
Hears the artful Flewker's tale,