Of all the plans there are on earth
For Statesmen still to cherish O
Commend me to the Premier’s own
Whose glory ne’er will perish O!
O the Scuttle, the base, ignoble Scuttle.
Chosen fad of Lib and Rad,
Our dear old Gladstone’s Scuttle O!
Forth, forth, from Egypt let us slope
As fast as we can manage O!
And let the Mahdi work his will