POETRY.

Globe, Volume XXI, Issue 1722, 27 August 1879, Page 3

POETRY.

TWO GREY BALLADS. THE GORGEOUS PROMISEE. i. Bir Gorgeous Grey, he haa a way, ■\Vhat does he do ? Pooh, pooh it. ii. Sark ! how he raves about the slaves, Those sixty thousand brothers ; I’ll o et them free to vote for me, Old Fisher and some others. ill. They passed his Bill, hut ’twas his will, To look at it with sour eyes, He swamped the lot, for he’d not got. The dual vote for Maoris! Tl. .All through his stump he plied his pump, On cures for all things rotten ; But just tho same, it was his game, To pass them by forgotten, i. (i You are,” they say, “ Promising Grey.” it They leave tho truthful way so, And little know how great a blow, They give me when they say so. n. What! fancy me, that old Pro. C—, Who used to rule this people With heavy hand, altho’ so bland j Not upright like a steeple.” in. Oh, mo ! he was a tyrant boss. Who trampled on each freeman; The land he caught, and sold for naught, To every squatter demon.” IV * i “And ‘this is he’ (they mean poor me) ’ That talks this softest sawder, _ . And comes and sighs, with tears in eyes, «I’ll set your house in order. y. "Oh, what a shame, to throw such blame On me, so pure and lenient, *Who always speak truth once a week, On Sundays—when convenient, VI. But what care I, for all they cry ? I don’t intend to funk ’em : iln vain they say * You’re Governor Grey, When I know I’m old George Bunkum.