UNDER THE SCREW.

Oh, where shall I go, and what shall I do?

Turn which way I will, I am under the screw.

Every Voter must feel a tight clutch on the throat

Of my conscience—poor thing!—ere he'll promise his vote.

PAT late was my patron,—'twas only his fun!

Now he's "three single gentlemen" not rolled in one.

There's PARNELL, MACARTHY, and SAUNDERSON! Phew!

If I partly please one, I make foemen of two.

Hang Ireland! And Scotland is getting as bad.

The S.H.R.A. will insist on their fad;

And their plan, too, is "pressure!" It's just nought but "squeeze."

And the poor M.P.'s life is one long "Little-Ease."

TAFFY too takes his turn at the merciless rack,

And there isn't a faddist, fanatic, or quack

But has his own Screw, which he wants to apply.

The Temperance Man "Direct Veto" would try,

And if I'm not found to accept it with glee,

He's vicious, and puts direct veto on me.

Ungenerous hot Anti-Jennerites claim

My vote against vaccine, or howl at my name;

The Working-Man wants his Eight Hours, or, by Jingo,

He'll give me—at polling—particular stingo.

The Socialist wants me to do with the Land

A—well, a dashed something I can't understand;

The Financial Reformer, 'tis little he "axes,"

He only requires me to take off all taxes!

And now, with the General Election in view,

I'm dashed if a poor M.P. knows what to do.

How to live on the rack is a regular poser.

By Jove, I'm half tempted to turn a—Primroser!

The soft "Primrose Path" may conduct to the fire,

But 'tis easy at least, and of Screwing I tire!