Originally published in The Metropolitan (James Cochrane) vol.1 #3 (Jul 1831).
"How wonderful the present age,"
Cries Clara, pretty Miss,—
"For now Reform is all the rage;
Who'd e'er have thought of this!
My bishop's sleeves I now shall lose,
Economy's the go,
And I shall wear prunella shoes,
Whether I will or no.
"I heard Mamma, the other day,
Say all will mend their steps;
That lords will now give over play,
And marrying demireps;
Ladies will mend their manners too,
Changing their present fashion,
Give up mazurka, opera, loo,
And rubbings à la Cashin.
"Papa declares the House of Lords
Will first begin the thing,
Reforming wasteful idle words
And useless bickering;
That Londonderry will reform
His temper with his years,
Eat less cayenne, nor wax so warm,
With nurses and with peers.
"That Farnham will reform his tongue
From Catholic abuse,—
That Ellenborough, late and long,
Will govern his in use;
For 'tis a member little worth,
Till wisdom's prompting move it,
Though Eldon weep its merits forth,
Or Cumberland approve it:
"The Lower House will follow next,
And then our corporations;
Then lawyers, clergy, book and text,
And people of all stations.
It would be paradise on earth,
If such a thing could be,
The prisons changed to halls of mirth—
All would be blest but me:
"For Captain Cary of the third
Seduced my heart away,
In speeches soft his suit preferr'd,
Yet never named the day;
He left me—could such baseness be?—
With protestations warm,
And never more return'd—ah me!—
Who knows but he'll reform!"