Dizzy’s Lament
Oh dear! oh dear! what shall I do?
They call me saucy Ben the Jew,
The leader of the Tory crew,
Poor old Benjamin Dizzy.
I’d a great big house in Buckinghamshire,
My Wages was Five Thousand a year;
But now they have turned me out of place,
With a ticket for soup, in great disgrace.
I had a challenge last Monday night,
Billy Gladstone wanted me to fight;
The challenge was brought by Jackey Bright,
To poor old Benjamin Dizzy,
I’ve got the sack, what shall I do?
They call me a converted Jew,
Bad luck to Bright and Gladstone too,
They mean to drive me crazy.
I never thought they’d turn me out,
For well I knew my way about,
But I am licked without a doubt,
So pity poor Benjamin Dizzy.
Oh! if I could Bill Gladstone thump,
I’d burst his nose, and kick his r—p;
If like Jack Heenan I could fight,
I’d wollop both him and Johnny Bright.
Gladstone will play the deuce with me,
For he’s got a great majority,
And as sure as my name is Disreali,
I am shoved out by Gladstone.
Billy Gladstone made a great big birch,
And said he’d not be in the lurch,
But he’d sweep away the Irish Church,
And kill poor Benjamin Dizzy.
If he had his will he’d play some rigs,
He’d smother the people with Parsons’ wigs;
But if I had my will, mark what I mean,
I’d make Murphy a footman to the Queen.
Murphy and me could make it right,
If like a Lancashire lad I could fight,
I’d poke out the eyes of Jackey Bright,
And punch the shins of Gladstone.
I tremble and I quake with fear,
For Gladstone he is so severe,
Though he was kicked out in Lancashire,
For Greenwich he’s elected.
The destructives say all over the land,
Every tub on his own bottom shall stand.
But in spite of all their joy and prate,
I will support the Church and State.
Bill Gladstone, Bright, and old Bob Lowe,
Are in the Cabinet you know,
And I will whistle not for Joe,
To all the measures they bring forward.
Where the Shamrock, Leek and Thistle grow,
I find that I had lots of foes,
So I will stick to England’s Rose,
And never will surrender.
Last night as I lay on my bed,
Some dreadful things came in my head,
I dreamt that I was whacked with a birch,
And that I’d swallowed the Irish Church.
Oh, Bright and Gladstone go the rig,
The Irish Church the fishes and pigs,
That you may be choked with Parsons’ wigs,
Is the wish of Benjamin Dizzy.
John Harkness, Printer, Preston.