The Sub-Treasury Gentleman.

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Tune — "The fine old English Gentleman."

I'LL sing you a bran 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 pamper'd 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;

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And there his worship sits in state,
And rumor'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 distress'd 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 modern 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 fill'd,
As they were wont of yore,

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That is, by honest men and true,
With heart to help the poor.
Like the true-hearted gentleman,
The Farmer of North Bend,
Who poor himself, has ever proved
To be the poor man's friend.