As wayward and proud up Fame’s mountains I pressed;
The aged man feared from his staff he had lost me,
And offered—a sell!—in his Cabinet rest.
“Ah! nay, Grand Old Hand, I would far rather wait;
No rest, save at top, for the Pilgrim of Hate.”
“Yet tarry, my Son, till my H. R. Bill passes;
Let’s bow to the League and Parnell, its great head.
You’ll not leave the Masses and vote with the Classes?
Come in, take your seat. Reform’s banquet is spread.”
“Ah! nay, Grand Old Hand, I’m not caught with that bait.