THE SEVEN AGES OF ROSEBERY.
[Mr. St. Loe Strachey has written an article in the Nineteenth Century, entitled, "The Seven Lord Roseberies.">[
Parliament's a stage, And, Peers or Commoners, they are merely players: They have their exits and their entrances, And one Peer in his time plays many parts, His acts being seven stages. First the Home-Ruler, Mewling and puking in Nurse Gladstone's arms; And then the Union Schoolboy, with his satchel, And smooth-cut morning face, creeping like snail Unwilling to Joe's school. And then the Boss, Working like nigger, with a dithyrambic Made to the County Council. Then a Socialist, Full of strange aims, bearded like Bernard Shaw, Jealous of Ground Rents, quick with Land to quarrel, Seeking the fleeting bubble, Betterment, E'en at Monopoly's mouth. And then the Premier, High above Party, with a pleasant joke On the predominant partner and his claims; Full of light jests and modern mugwumpisms; And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts Into the smooth-cheeked, inexpressive Sphinx With finger at her nose's knowing side, Dizzy's old pose well mimicked, "cute" and "wide," With a cold eye and an oracular voice, Which, tuned to cynic lightness, puzzles much The Radical Œdipus. Last scene of all, That ends this strange eventful history, Newmarket Rosebery, Ladas-owner, Lord,— Sans grit, sans nous, sans go, sans everything!