I'd rather by a thousand crowns Lord Palmerston were here!—
"'What is't ye seek, ye rebel knaves—what make you there beneath?'
'The bays, the bays! we want the bays! we seek the laureate wreath!
We seek the butt of generous wine that cheers the son of song;
Choose thou among us all, Sir Knight—we may not tarry long!'
"Loud laughed the good Sir James in scorn 'Rare jest it were, I think,
But one poor butt of Xeres, and a thousand rogues to drink!
An' if it flowed with wine or beer, 'tis easy to be seen,
That dry within the hour would be the well of Hippocrene.
"'Tell me, if on Parnassus' heights there grow a thousand sheaves;