AT THE HEAD OF HER MAJESTY'S GOVERNMENT.
(From a countryman of his.)
Hey, Aberdeen, are ye wakin' yet,
And are our drums a beatin' yet,
The journals lee,
Or fra' all we see,
The Russians are not retreatin' yet?
Hey, Aberdeen, are ye writin' yet,
In hollow phrases delightin' yet,
While on Danube's banks
Thae hostile ranks
Are makin' ready for fightin' yet?
Hey, Aberdeen, are ye prosin' yet,
On your council sofas a dozin' yet,
To the old world's sneers,
And the new world's jeers,
Your country's honour exposin' yet?
Hey, Aberdeen, are ye twaddlin' yet,
And over yer red tape dawdlin' yet
About Nick's good faith,
And his power, and baith,
To your weary colleagues a maudlin' yet?
Hey, Aberdeen, are ye Premier yet,
We must have some cleverer schemer yet,
Or the Russian cat
Whom ye love to pat,
Will be over to lick up her cream here yet.
"The true art of dining consists in dining at your country's expense."—Young Stafford.