THE BRITISH M. P.
(A Song of St. Stephen's.)
UNDER St. Stephen's high roof-tree
The British M. P. sits:
M. P. a mighty man is he,
With sharp and seasoned wits,
And an eloquence that, once set free,
Would give opponents fits.
Week in, week out, from noon to night,
He must sit in silent woe,
Whilst WARTON vents his dullard spite,
With measured boom and slow,
Or SEXTON soars in furious flight
When the morning lights burn low.
Boiling and bored, no fight, no fun,
Onward the M. P. goes.
Each day sees aimless jaw begun,
No night beholds its close.
Little attempted, nothing done—
No work and no repose!
Punch, March 24, 1883.