With it to the Commons hie—
Need I state the reason why?—
And stick it in Sir Michael’s crest.
Gather next a bunch of Rue,
To his speech a fitting cue—
Garland grim and strange to see,
For the head of Salisbury.
It will suit his bitter brows,
Now they’ve lost their laurel boughs—
(Smith, too, lost his—what a pity!—