But sternly arrayed, as to say, “Who’s afraid!”
The rest wait for the message too long delayed.
The clock strikes “four,” and at the door
Sounds a something that isn’t exactly a roar—
A sort of a scuffle and underbred shuffle,
As of Commons who wouldn’t their lordships ruffle;
Impatience just tempered with awe.
But the message is plain—as plain as the day,
“My Lords, the Commons will not obey.”
Then the Marquis Bobby in wrath arose,