Gladstone hath us in his net.
Dizzy’s gone—can we forget?
Many sessions rise and set,
Many a chance the years beget,
Northcote muffs ’em all, you bet.
Even so.
Fruitlessly we jar and fret,
Dizzy is a vain regret,
E’en Hicks-Beach is in a pet.
Censure votes fall idle yet,