Three Champions went stumping up into the North,
Up into the North with identical creeds;
Lord S. took the Clyde, and Sir Stafford the Forth,
While Lord Randolph he posed as a Leader at Leeds,
For if Radicals rant, then Tories will fret,
And there’s little to learn, and much to forget,
When our rival Chiefs are spouting.
Three Editors sat in their newspaper towers,
While the “flimsies” came pouring in fast as could be;
And they kindly cut short the rhetorical flowers,