LORD BEACONSFIELD AS TITHONUS.
THE Whigs decay, the Whigs decay, and fall,
The Obstructives drag our Senate through the mire;
Parliaments cumber earth, then pass away;
E'en this one, after many a session, dies;
While I, secure of immortality,
Take my calm saunter, propped by Monty's arm,
Along the highways of the busy world,
A noted figure, roaming, in my dream,
All sorts of places in my Favourite East,