THE MOUNTEBANK MEMBER.
Respectfully Dedicated to Sir Robert Peel, principal Low Comedian at the New House in Westminster.
Oh, have you read the last debate,
On our swingeing Army Estimate,
If you haven’t, you’d better do so straight,
For the sake of the Mountebank Member -
His name it is Sir Robert Peel,
And for tickling the House from head to heel,
As he runs his patter off the reel,
There’s none like the Mountebank Member!
Laughing, chaffing, poking fun-
Through the comic gamut he’s game to run,
From the last bit of gag to the oldest pun-
As stale and as dry as a last week’s bun-
There’s Bernal Osborne’s great at chaff
And Vivian can “mug” you out of a laugh,
But both together can’t come it half
So strong as the Mountebank Member!
Some think the House of Commons a place
Unsuited for gag and grin and grimace-
But for such old fogies who cares an ace?
“Not I,” says the Mountebank Member!
“I’m not the man to win respect;
The ‘tother line I rather affect;
So the Robson business I select”-
“Here we are!” cries the Mountebank Member!
Slapping, rapping, left and right;
At Mister Speaker “taking a sight;”
It’s equal to Tom Mathews quite,
Except that he don’t wear red and white.-
Some night to the cry of “Bravo, Rouse!
The choker of private life he’ll dowse,
And go head over heels on the floor of the House,
And for Somerset claim to be Member!
The first Sir Robert, he made an estate,
By spinning of yarns at a wonderful rate,
And the second Sir Robert was famed in debate-
And the third is the Mountebank Member!
He, like his grandsire, a yarn can spin;
And if his father State-laurels could win,
Why, he’ll earn his wreath, by a horse-collar grin-
Will Sir Robert the Mountebank Member.
As high as the donkey for two more browns,
He soars above all rival clowns,
And in case the House of Commons frowns,
Like other mountebanks, tries the Downs-
For since in the Commons he looms so great,
No wonder that on the turf of late,
He has ventured to court Miss-Fortune and Fate,
The unfortunate Mountebank Member!
Perhaps he’s laughed at his betters so long,
That he thinks at that game he can’t go wrong:
But you may find your mistake ere long-
My fast-stepping Mountebank Member!
For at that which you like so much – horse-play -
The paternal guineas may melt away,
Ere Frederic Robinson you can say,
Than, alas! for the Mountebank Member!
Needy, seedy, out of luck:
Left the hindmost in the ruck,
His brazen head he’ll have to duck,
Till under a cloud it’s piteously stuck-
And then, alas! a long eclipse
To the puns and patter, and cranks and quips,
That now flow sparkling from the lips,
Of Sir Robert the Mountebank Member!
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