Like cowards you turned on a stout-hearted man,
Compensated iniquities lavishly free—
Nearly everything’s gone to the dogs or the D.!
But now my affairs which you’ve scattered and strown,
Perhaps will come right when you leave ’em alone.
Two million! Ah, they to my future will see!
Farewell, then, I’ve done with you—go to the D.!
D. Evans.
The Weekly Despatch, November 15, 1885.