The confusion—“hear, hear,” cries of “spoke,” and “well done.”
A hundred strange voices resound far and near,
Whigs, Tories, and Radicals greet the tir’d ear,
While with neck well cravatted, arranging his vest,
Proud, pert, and a puppy with hand on his breast,
Slightly turning his hair, with a dandyish grace,
The young politician first starts for a place.
Now the premier’s turn’d out, to succeed him they rush,
Whigs and Tories both making a desperate push.
They plot and intrigue, and by craft every day,