Political Songs and Squibs
[The following is from The Arcadian, a magazine which Hook edited and principally wrote in 1820, and which only reached two numbers.]
Carmen Æstuale
A Song for the Summer, to be sung by J. C. H——, Esq.,19 now a Prisoner in His Majesty’s Gaol of Newgate.
Tune—“Whare ha’ ye bin a’ the day, my boy Tammy?”
Where have ye been a’ the Spring,
My boy Cammy?
Where have ye been a’ the Spring,
My boy Cammy?
I have been in Newgate keep,
Doomed to dine, to drink, to sleep,
Side by side with rogue and sweep,
In dungeon dark and clammy.20
What took you to Newgate keep,
My boy Cammy?
What took you to Newgate keep,
My boy Cammy?
I did once my goose-quill take,
To shew a Whig a small mistake.
Did you do’t for freedom’s sake?
Freedom’s my eye and Tammy!
What then did you do it for,
My boy Cammy?
What then did you do it for,
My boy Cammy?
Because I thought if I were sent
To jail, for libelling Parliament,
I might chance to circumvent
Next election, Lamby.21
How would that throw out George Lamb,
My boy Cammy?
How would that throw out George Lamb,
My boy Cammy?
Because, with tag-rag and bobtail,
Nothing does but going to jail;
We have seldom found it fail;
Voyez vous, mon ami!
How do you make that out,
My boy Cammy?
How do you make that out,
My boy Cammy?
See what all the rest have done—
Abbott, Burdett, Waddington,
Blandford, Hunt, and Wat—son,
And now, like them, here am I!
Did the Speaker talk to you,
My boy Cammy?
Did the Speaker talk to you,
My boy Cammy?
No;—my visit to Papa
Wreck’d my prospects of éclat;
I was never at the bar,
Where I thought they’d ha’ me.
Why, then, ’tis a stupid job,
My boy Cammy?
Why, then, ’tis a stupid job,
My boy Cammy?
No;—because when I come out
They’ll have a car, without a doubt,
And, in triumph, all about,
The biped beasts will draw me.
You’ve mistaken quite your game,
My boy Cammy;
You’ve mistaken quite your game,
My boy Cammy.
Of fulsome stuff, like that, we’re sick,
Besides, we all see through the trick;
Before we drag, we’ll see you “kick”
Before your prison, d—mme!