This is THE DOCTOR

      of Circular fame,
     A Driv'ller, a Bigot, a Knave
     without shame:

     And that's DERRY DOWN TRIANGLE

                 by name,

     From the Land of misrule,

                   and half-hanging, and flame:
     And that is THE SPOUTER OF FROTH
     BY THE HOUR,

     The worthless colleague

                   of their infamous power:

     W ho dubb'd him 'the Doctor'

                  whom now he calls 'brother,'
     And, to get at his Place,

                    took a shot at the other;

     Who haunts their Bad House,

     a base living to earn,

     By playing Jack-pudding, and Ruffian,
     in turn;

     Who bullies, for those

                  whom he bullied before;

     Their Flash-man, their Bravo,

     a son of a ————;

     The hate of the People,

                    all tatter'd and torn,

     Who curse the day

                  wherein they were born,

     On account of Taxation

                   too great to be borne,

     And pray for relief

                   from night to morn;

         Who, in vain, petition

                         in every form:

         Who peaceably Meeting

                       to ask for Reform,

         Were sabred by Yeomanry Cavalry,
                     who

        Were thank'd by THE MAN,

                       all shaven and shorn,

         All cover'd with Orders—

                         and all forlorn;

       THE DANDY OF SIXTY,

                      who bows with a grace,

          And has taste in wigs, collars,

                         cuirasses and lace:

         Who to tricksters and fools,

                        leaves the State and its treasure,
          And, when Britain's in tears,

                         sails about at his pleasure:

         Who spurn'd from his presence

                        the Friends of his youth,

         And now has not one

                        who will tell him the truth;

     Who took to his counsels, in evil