‘’Tis near five o’clock,’ I muttered, and my lot I meekly bore,
Hoping there was little more.
“For since noon I had been sitting, and the daylight now was flitting,
As M.P.’s, their places quitting, noiselessly pass’d through the door,
Motions, though, in such a number did the notice-book encumber,
That I’d vainly sought to slumber, though my eyes were tired and sore,
Dared not nap like those around me, though my eyes were red and sore;
But a watchful look I wore.
“Tired of talking, Whalley finished, and my list was thus diminished
By the Bill on ‘Open Spaces’—this it was his name that bore—