For in that dread event what woes may come
When we are left in thin minority,
Must give us pause: there’s the respect
That makes calamity of party life;
For who would bear Sir Stafford’s taunting smile,
Cynic Cecil’s chuckle, country’s contumely,
The pangs of sore defeat, the law’s delay,
Conservatives in office, and the spurns
That fallen power from parasites must take,
When I myself can calm commotion’s roar