And Thames’ waves murmur as the members leave,
And sigh beneath its bridges as they pass,
Grieving (if aught so muddy e’er can grieve)
Over the unreturning brave—alas!
So shortly to be stript of all their brass
As well as tin, and, friendless, left to go
O’er the wide, gloomy world—consigned, en masse,
To vile obscurity by heartless foe,
Shorn of their proud “M.P.” by base elector’s “No!”
Last session found them full of lusty strife,