THE MADNESS OF THE MACNAMARA.
(From the Gaelic—with apologies to Bon Gaultier.)
Weefrees swore a feud
Against the clan McGeorgy;
Marched to Leamington
To hold a pious orgy;
For they did resolve
To extirpate the vipers
With thirty stout M.P.s
And all the Northsquith “pipers.”
“Lads,” said Hogge and Benn
To their faithful scholars,
“We shall need to fight
To retain the dollars;
Here’s Mhic-mac-Namara
Coming with his henchmen,
Hewart, Kellaway
And several Front-Bench men.”
“Coot-tay to you, Sirs,”
Said Mhic-mac-Namara
In a voice that reached
From Leamington to Tara;
“So you’d drum us out
To enjoy your plunder,
Adding to a crime
Suicidal blunder.”
But the brave Weefrees,
Heedless of his bawling,
Drowned him with the storm
Of their caterwauling;
So Mhic-mac-Namara
And the valiant Kellaway
Gave some warlike howls
And in haste got well away.
In this sorry style
Died ta Liberal Party,
Which in days of old
Had been strong and hearty;
This, good Mr. Punch,
Is ta true edition;
Here’s your fery coot health
And—bless ta Coalition!