And not for its answer caring, and by no means yet despairing,
I took heart and said: “Six millions was there left in ’Seventy-four;
When shall I next get a Surplus large as that in ’Seventy-four?”
Quoth my guest: “Why, nevermore!”
But this time ’twas not contented with the word I so resented,
But went on and said: “Oh, Northcote, ruin is for you in store!
Thanks to your mysterious master, dearth will follow on disaster,
Ills will follow fast and faster, trade will wholly leave your shore;
And the people, so impoverish’d, will your taxes pay no more.
Debt will haunt you more and more!