A Political Solution

Our House of Common Criminals is past
All thought or care to halt the City's games;
And yet there's little sign someone may blast
That pile of smirking thieves into the Thames.
They've cut adrift many unworthy lives;
Six hundred fifty more will add no gloom.
Now that they've bust us with their chopping-knives,
Return, good master Fawkes, with a big boom.

Mobberly Grotcher