Sub-Treasury Gentleman

Air: The fine old English Gentleman

I'll sing you a brand new song,
Which was made by a queer old pate,
Of a Sub-Treasury gentleman,
Who controls the nation's fate;
And who keeps up his old mansion,
All at the people's cost, *
With pampered menials to receive
The sycophantic host.
Like a Sub-Treasury gentleman,
All of the modern time.

His splendid halls are hung about
With richest tapestry,
The mirrors bright and paintings rare
Are wonderful to see;

And there his worship sits in state,
And rumour's tongue doth say,
He quaffs, from golden cups, rich wine,
To moisten his old clay.
Like a Sub-Treasury gentleman,
All of the modern time

His custom is, when hard times come,
And the distressed repair
To his old hall, to seek relief
And claim protection there,
To say to them—" My policy
I cannot change a hair
For your relief, the government
Must of itself take care.''
Like the Sub-Treasury gentleman,
All of the modem time.

Yet all at length must bend to fate,
So like the ebbing tide,
Declining swiftly, at the last
This man must stand aside.
Then quickly will the poor man's tear
Be wiped away and dried,
And people shout both loud and long,
So much they scorn the pride
Of the Sub-Treasury gentleman,
All of the modern time.

When times and rulers both are changed,
And rogues have passed away,

The people's hands and people's hearts
Will prove the people's sway.
The offices will then be filled,
As they were wont of yore,
That is, by honest men and true,
With heart to help the poor.
Like Clay, true-hearted gentleman,
Whose kindness knows no end,
Once poor himself, has ever proved
The poor man's steady friend.