To fetch with tongs th’ accursed sheet,
Which eagerly they scanned:
A fearful thing there met their sight,
“GREAT VICTORY FOR MR. BRIGHT!”
Quoth Rowlands: “This looks very blue,
Poor Churchill—what a sell!
I think I’ll have a brandy hot,”
And forthwith pulled the bell;
While Stone sat still with stony stare,
Gazing profoundly on the air.