And makes your helméd valour down i' the mouth?
Why dimly glimmers that heroic flame
Whose reddening blaze, by civic spirit fed,
Should be the beacon of a happy Town?
Can the smart patter of a Bobby's tongue
Thus stagnate in a cold and prosy converse,
Or freeze in oathless inarticulateness?
No! Let not the full fountain of your valour
Be choked by mere official wiggings, or
Your prompt consensus of prodigious swearing
Be checked by the philanthropists' foaming wrath,
Or high officialdom's hostility!

_Mr. P._ There it is, Mr. Commissioner; they admit your by no means
soft impeachment.

_Commissioner_. Nay, listen yet awhile!

_1st P.C._ No more!--the freshening breeze of your rebuke
Hath filled the napping canvas of our souls!
And thus, though magistrates expostulate,

[_All take hands and raise their truncheons._

And hint that ANANIAS dressed in blue,
We'll grapple with the thing called Evidence,
And if we fall, by Heaven! we'll fall _together_!

_Inspector_. There spoke Policedom's genius!
Then, are we all resolved?