By our land, depression-haunted,—tell me truly, I implore,—
Is it, can it be Protection? Answer plainly, I implore!”
Quoth Dunraven, “Tax once more!”
“Prophet,” said I, “of things evil, I don’t wish to be uncivil,
But, by heaven! this Fair Trade figment is becoming a big bore.
Think you Corn with taxes laden means an economic Aidenn
For that somewhat ancient maiden who ‘protected’ was of yore,
For that very ancient maiden, Agriculture?” With a roar
Yelled Dunraven “Tax once more!”
“Then it’s time that we were parting, Parroteer!” I cried, upstarting,