The little dark man could his office retain;
Reluctant he went, but he pocketed clear,
In pension and place, fifteen hundred a year.
He growl'd and intrigued but in vain—he is gone!
Soon forgotten by most, and regretted by none:
But to sink in oblivion he cannot endure,
The moment seems tempting, the victims secure.
Strike! strike at your friends! The foul blow it was sped,
And with terrible justice recoil'd on his head.
The little dark man then he set up a yell,