Leave the fools that you followed, the dreams that you dreamed,
And kick out Sagasta & Co.?”
“She!” in scorn cried the keeper,—Armed Force,—who stood there,
With his whip and strait-waistcoat, fair shown,
“Don’t think her craze cured, or her turned head set square,
Poor L’Espana’s still mad as was ever March hare.
It is me you’ve to thank for your throne.
“How bonds both a curse and a blessing may be
Poor L’Espana is destined to know:
In the bonds I put on her salvation you see,