I never reads the news, and sees no merit
In anythink as breathes a party sperrit.

BOB.
Ain't you a hinglishman? and yet not feel
A hint'rest, Brisket, in the common-weal?

BRISKET.
The common-weal be--anything for me,--
There ain't no sentiment as I can see
In all the stuff these sons of--Britain prate--
They talk too much and do too little for the state.

BOB.
O! Brisket, I'm afeard as you're a 'Rad?'

BRISKET.
No, honour bright! for sin' I was a lad
I've stuck thro' thick and thin to Peel, or
Vellinton--for Tories is genteeler;
But I'm no politician. No! I read
These 'Tales of Love' vich tells of hearts as bleed,
And moonlight meetins in the field and grove,
And cross-grain'd pa's and wictims of true love;
Wirgins in white a-leaping out o' winders--
Vot some old codger cotches, and so hinders--
From j'ining her true-love to tie the knot,
Who broken-hearted dies upon the spot!

BOB.