George Canning - Parody

For one long term, or e'er her trial came, <br />Here Brownrigg linger'd. Often have these cells <br />Echoed her blasphemies, as with shrill voice <br />She scream'd for fresh Geneva. Not to her <br />Did the blithe fields of Tothill, or thy street <br />St. Giles, its fair varieties expand; <br />Till at the last in slow drawn cart she went <br />To execution. Dost thou ask her crime? <br />She whipp'd two female 'prentices to death, <br />And hid them in the coal-hole. For her mind <br />Shap'd strictest plans of discipline. Sage schemes! <br />Such as Lycurgus taught, when at the shrine <br />Of the Orthyan Goddess he bade flog <br />The little Spartans; such as erst chastised <br />Our Milton when at College. For this act <br />Did Brownrigg swing. Harsh laws; but time shall come, <br />When France shall reign, and laws be all repeal'd!<br /><br />George Canning<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/parody/