When the broad-bottom <br />'d Junto, with reason at strife, <br />Resign'd, with a sigh, its political life; <br />When converted to Rome, and of honesty tired, <br />They gave back to the Devil the soul he inspired. <br /> <br /> <br />The Demon of Faction, that over them hung, <br />In accents of horror their epitaph sung; <br />While Pride and Venality join'd in the stave, <br />And canting Democracy wept at the grave. <br /> <br /> <br />'Here lies in the tomb that we hollow'd for Pitt, <br />'Consistence <br />of Grenville, of Temple the wit; <br />'Of Sidmouth the firmness, the temper of Grey, <br />'And Treasurer Sheridan's promise to pay. <br /> <br /> <br />'Here Petty's finance, from the evils to come, <br />'With Fitzpatrick' <br />s sobriety creeps to the tomb; <br />'And Chancellor Ego, now left in the lurch, <br />'Neither dines with the Jordan, nor whines for the church. <br /> <br /> <br />'Then huzza for the Party that here is at rest, <br />'By the fools of a faction regretted and blest; <br />'Though they sleep with the Devil, yet theirs is the 'hope, <br />'On the downfall of Britain to rise with the Pope.'<br /><br />George Canning<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/all-the-talents/
