THE BITTER PILL, OR THE LEAST OF TWO EVILS.

“Yes,” quoth John Bull, with a rueful pull at the purse in his leather breeches,
“If it must be done, it had best be done, with the fewest possible speeches;
Fifteen millions odd for my Army, and almost as much for my Navy;
It’s enough to leave Old England’s Roast Beef uncommonly short of gravy!
I should mind it less were I sure I’d had value received for my money,
But I feel uncommonly like a Bee, that’s just been smugged of his honey;
He knows the store’s been rifled that he trusted to for hard weather,
But as to whose belly it’s gone to he is in the dark altogether.
Then there’s The Debt, of course I can’t lighted that – though true it is,
I did rather flatter myself this year, in the hope of those Long Annuities;
But their dropping has been the excuse for so much financial phlebotomy,
I feel that not only they’ve dropt, but have certainly dropt atop o’me;
For every hundred I save by their falling in my Exchequer,
Gladstone calls on me for two hundred – that nineteenth century Necker!
And then by this treaty with France – that’s to end all animosity -
I’ve to give eighteenpence for a shilling, by way of reciprocity!
It’s true I may drink vin ordinaire, at a saving of sixpence a bottle,
But I’d rather pay a shilling than let such stuff into my throttle!
I can use all my own coal and iron – to make Armstrong guns in terrorem;
And as for French hops – I can get what I want of Mr. Gye, ad valorem.
However I’ll swallow the treaty – though in making it, Cobden, d’ye see,
Had two Chevaliers to deal with – and one de l’industrie.
If English revenue must go to teach France free trade – why let it:
And as for the quid pro quo for my loss, why let us hope we may get it:
I give up the paper duty – good bye to that, and Amen, Sir:
With the Sword asking thirty millions, one isn’t much fro the Pen, Sir.
As for sweeping away the tatters of that old flag of Protection,
That stuck here and there in my tariff, – I’m sure I’ve no objection -
And even your biggest and bitterest pill – this tenpenny Income-Tax, Sir,
Well – I’d rather swallow that, than put myself in the hands of those quacks, Sir,
Who puff themselves off in the papers and their own trumpets blow,
As Proprietors of the Conservative Pill – Messrs. Derby, Dizzy, and Co.”

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