The English Revolution of 1848 Dante Gabriel Rossetti 1 By permission of the British Library The English Revolution of 1848 Dante Gabriel Rossetti 1848 fair copy 1 page, both sides British Museum Library, Ashley Collection Ashley 3842 Both sides of a quarto leaf of gray laid paper. Stringed bugle on crowned shield above the letters GW 18 x 11.2 cm The poem is dated March 1848 in DGR's hand. The note By G.C.D.R. has been added in another hand. Commentary
Introduction

This is one of T. J. Wise's typical small bound volumes housing a single DGR manuscript.

Textual History: Composition

Textual History: Revision

Production History

Reception History

Iconographic

Printing History

Pictorial

Historical

Literary

Translation

Autobiographical

Bibliographic

Bookplate with standing female angel blowing trumpet and seated female angel. Between the two figures is a flowing banner on which is inscribed the owner's name. Below the figures and the ower's name is an inscribed poem.

THOMAS JAMES WISE HIS BOOK

BOOKS BRING ME FRIENDS WHERE'ER ON EARTH I BE. SOLACE OF SOLITUDE- BONDS OF SOCIETY! <hi rend="center">The English Revolution of 1848.<lb/>(No connection with over the way.)</hi>

“Some unprincipled persons endeavour to impose upon thepublic by such phrases as “It's all one,” “It's the same concern,” &c”Moses & Son.

 Ho ye that nothing have to lose! ho rouse ye, one & all! Come from the sinks of the New Cut,— the purlieus of Vauxhall! Did ye not hear the mighty sound boom by ye as it went? The Seven Dials strike the hour of man's enfranchisement. Ho! cock your eyes, my gallant pals, and swing your heavy staves: Remember—Kings and Queens being out, the great cards will be knaves. And when the pack is ours,—oh then, at what a slapping pace Shall the tens be trodden down to five, and the fives kicked down to ace! It was but yesterday the Times and Post and Telegraph Told how from France King Louy—Phil was shaken out like chaff: To-morrow, boys, the National , the <foreign lang="french">Siècle</foreign> , and the <foreign lang="french">Débats</foreign> , Shall have to tell the self-same tale of “La Reine Victoria.” What! shall our Incomes we've not got be taxed by puny John? Shall the policeman keep Time back by bidding us move on? Shall we too follow in the steps of that poor sneak Cochrane? Shall it be said, “They came, they saw,—and bolted back again”? Not so! Albeit great men have been among us, and are floor'd,— (Frost, Williams, Jones, and other ones who now reside abroad)— Among the master-spirits of the age there still are those Who'll pick up fame—even though, when smelt, it makes men hold the (nose. What ho there! clear the way! make room for him, the “fly” and wise, Who wrote in mystic grammar about London's “Mysteries,”— For him who takes a proud delight to wallow in our kennels,— For Mr. A. B. C. D. E. F. G. M. W. Reynolds! Come hoist him up! his pockets will afford convenient hold To grab him by: and, if inside there silver is or gold, And it should be found sticking to our hands when they're drawn out,— Why, 'twere a chance not fair to say ill-natured things about. Silence! Hear hear! He says that we're the sovereign people, we! And now? And now he states the fact that one and one make three! Now he makes casual mention of a certain Miscellany! He says that he's the Editor! He says it costs a penny! O thou great Spirit of the World! shall not the lofty things He saith be borne unto all Time for noble lessonings? Shall not our sons tell to their sons what we could do and dare In this the great year Forty-eight, and in Trafalgar-Square? Swathed in foul wood, yon column stood 'mid London's thousand marts; And at their wine, Committee-men grinned as they drank “The Arts.” But our good flint-stones have bowled down each poster-hidden board, And from their hoarded malice our strong hands have stript the hoard. Yon column is a prouder thing than Cæsar's triumph-arch! It shall be called “The Column of the Glorious Days of March!” And stone-masons' apprentices shall grow rich men therewith,— By contract chiselling the names of Jones, and Brown, and Smith. Upon what point of London, say, shall our next vengeance burst? Shall the Exchange or Parliament be immolated first? Which of the Squares shall we burn down?—which of the Palaces? (The speaker is nailed by a policeman.) Oh please Sir don't! It isn't me. It's him. Oh don't Sir please! --- By G.C.D.R.     March 1848