HARCURTIUS of the triple chin, by the Nine Points he swore
The Capital should suffer from Tory sway no more;
By the Nine Points he swore it, and named a trysting day,
And bade his messengers ride forth east and west, and south and north,

                    To summon his array.

East and west, and south and north the messengers ride fast;
From Kennington to Poplar they’ve heard the trumpet’s blast. 
Shame on the false Caucusian who loiters in his Club
When triple-chin’d HARCURTIUS prepares the foe to drub! 
Too long the Capital hath borne the stubborn Tory yoke,
Too long the Liberals have failed to strike a swashing stroke. 
Betrayed to Tory clutches by traitors shrewd and strong,
The banded foes have held it all too firmly and too long. 
SALISBURIUS and GOSCHENIUS have struck unholy pact,
Foes long in dubious seeming, but ever friends, in fact,
Devonian CAVENDUS, he of the broad and bovine jowl,
Who smiled but coldly ever, now on our cause doth scowl. 
Cock-nosed CUBICULARIUS, once a Captain of our host,
Now chums with bland BALFOURIUS, and makes that bond his boast. 
Oh, was there ever such a gang, so motley and so mixed,
To garrison a Citadel on which all hopes are fixed? 
Oh, was there ever such a call to strike one mighty blow,
To snatch the Capital once more, and lay the traitors low?

  HARCURTIUS hurries onward, he waves the Grand Old Flag,
  And when that banner flouts the breeze, what slave so base as lag? 
  GLADSTONIUS at his elbow,—­not he the Old, the Grand,—­
  He shuns the fogs of winter in a far-off sunny land,
  Nursing his force for the great fray that may right soon come on,—­
  This is not he of Hawarden, but the old hero’s son: 
  There’s OTTO, of the brindled beard, RUSSELLIUS swift of tongue,
  RIPONIUS and LEFEVRIUS into the fray have flung. 
  Sleek-haired STANSFELDUS also, MUNDELLA of the Beak. 
  That CORVUS of the legion, good both to fight and speak,
  LEO PLAYFAIRIUS follows, and brave BANNERMANUS bears
  The flag he’s fond of flaunting, there gallant AUCEPS dares
  All that becomes a hero, whilst last, but oh, not least! 
  KIMBERLEYUS fares forth to the fight as others to a feast. 
  “Now, up!” cried stout HARCURTIUS, “Up! and we yet shall trap ’em! 
  Kennington calls, and Hackney, with Fulham, too, and Clapham. 
  I hear the cry of Chelsea, Islington North and West
  Raise wails that find an echo in this mail-covered breast. 
  Bermondsey and Whitechapel upraise a piteous plaint: 
  (’Wy don’t our ‘eroes wisit hus?  We looks and there they ain’t!’)
  North Lambeth long neglected, and Wandsworth far South-West,
  (If I know where these places be I wish I may be blest!)
  Appeal to us for succour:  then Peckham, gallant Peckham,
  Makes a far cry from her famed Rye.