PEERS, IDLE PEERS.
"The House of Lords sat last night somewhat less than a quarter of an hour, during which no business was done."
PEERS, idle Peers, I know not what they do.
Peers from the depths of their luxurious chairs
Rise in the Clubs, and saunter into the House,
In-looking on the happy Hugh, Lord Cairns,
And thinking of the Bills that are in store.
Sure as the hammer falling at a sale,
That makes us travel by the Underground,
Sad as the feeling when our bargains prove
Not quite the treasure which we hoped to find;
So sad, so sure, the Bills that are to bore.
Ah, sad (not strange) as on dreary winter morns.
The surliest knock of half-impatient dun
To drowsy ears, ere, watched by drowsy eyes,
The tailor slowly goes across the square;
So sad, so very sad, the bills that are in store.
Drear as repeated hisses at your Play.
And drear as dreams by indigestion caused
To those that take hot suppers; dull as law,
Dull as dry law, and lost without regret;
O House of Lords, the Bills that are a bore.
Punch, March 7, 1868.
"Ask me no more: the moon may draw the sea;
The cloud may stoop from Heaven and take the shape,
With fold to fold, of mountain or of cape;
But O too fond, when have I answer'd thee?
Ask me no more."
* * * * *
TENNYSON (The Princess).