Shout, bearers, shout, for the Pride of the Party!
Lift on your shoulders the evergreen Chief.
Stalwart at seventy, stout, hale, and hearty,
Who of his laurels will grudge him a leaf?
And there’s a stripling gem,
Worthy the ancient stem—
Middlesex missed him, but Leeds won’t say “No.”
Loud shall all England then
Shout for the pair agen,
“Gladstone and Gladstone’s boy! Ho-ieroe!”