THE M.P. ON THE RAILWAY COMMITTEE.
(Dedicated to Alfred Tennyson).
With shareholders in anxious lots,
The rooms were crowded, one and all,
The Barristers stood round in knots,—
And quite forsook Westminster Hall.
Sections and plans looked odd and strange;
And the M.P. at each new batch,
Weary and worn, looked at his watch,
In hopes the Counsel to derange.
He only said, "It's very dreary:
He'll never stop!" he said;
He said, "I'm a-weary—a-weary,
I would I were in bed!"
The speech began before eleven,
And might go on till eventide;
He must be in the House at seven,
Upon a motion to divide.
The Barristers in white cravats
Unto each other gave the lie;
The M.P. sadly shut his eye
And thought of the Kilkenny cats.
He only said, "It's very dreary,
They'll never stop!" he said;
He said, "I'm a-weary—a-weary,
And must not go to bed."
Until the middle of the night,
He'd heard the Irish Members crow;
The House broke up in broad daylight,
Heavily he to bed did go,
In hopes to sleep; but without change,
In dreams, he seemed to hear, forlorn,
The Barrister he'd heard that morn;
And saw, in slumber, sections strange.
He sighed, and said, "'Tis very dreary;
I cannot sleep!" he said;
He said, "I am a-weary—a-weary,
Both in and out of bed."
* * * *
The hot sun beating on the roof,
The slow clock ticking, and the sound
Which in opposing lines' behoof
The counsel made,—did all confound
His sense: then longed he for the hour
When their report they came to lay
Before the Commons; and the day
On which he'd 'scape SIR ROBERT'S power,
Then said he, "This is far too dreary:
I will retire," he said;
He sighed, "I am so weary—a-weary,
I'll go to Jail instead."
Punch, 1845.