Edmund Burke

Yes, Edmund, you are all the vogue,
To vamp up an old story!
A Whig is an unruly rogue,
True as his creed a Tory.

Thus fashion plays her monkey tricks,
And fills our heads with flummery;
From France to you her coat she kicks,
High-Priest of Monks and mummery.

Your wit, now maudlin in the mire,
Now mounted on the wind,
Damns every man, who dares aspire,
To vindicate his kind.

And is not this old Right Divine?
Then make no more misnomers;
Adore Loyola's holy shrine,
And kiss your nurse St. Omer's.