Читать книгу Terrible Tractoration, and Other Poems онлайн

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Total depravity, we would

Hit you still harder if we could.

It makes one truly melancholic

To see your mobs, most diabolic,

Plunder and murder, with impunity,

Innocent members of community.

You talk of liberty, what stuff!

A mob’s a monarch, sure enough,

And one true liberty most dreads,

A tyrant with ten thousand heads.

There is no despot in creation

However high and firm his station,

Who feels not more responsibility

Than Lynch’s terrible mobility.

Our institutes of education

Are under moral obligation

To use said implement of ours

For graduating mental powers.

This criminal and dunce detector

May save from many a useless lecture,

From toiling quarter after quarter

In filling riddle sieves with water.

We license none for teaching schools,

Unless by Gall’s and Spurzheim’s rules

We find his sconce, in every section,

Bears phrenological inspection.

We apprehended Brougham’s schoolmaster,

And took his head sheer off—in plaster,

And found his bumps with ours accord

Before we let him “go abroad.”