And shelters under it each scribbling scamp.
Hola, Sir Hall! Hail Beith! Hail Buchan bland!
See, Dame Corelli takes Hugh Walpole’s hand;
And Dora and Censora hover nigh,
To tempt Sassoon and Read. They cannot buy;
So Bennett weeps, and Beaver heaves a sigh.
Now comes a rabble foul—avert the eyes—
Of arm-chair “patriots” and Lloyd-Georgian spies.
Hurl them from off Parnassus, with a shout—
Even from the Press Club let them be kicked out!