Hush’d is poor Harty’s tongue,
That erst was loosed in scorn;
Brave Bright is half asleep, I sometimes fear;
Liberals, ye may not mourn
Roebuck, who wildly flung
Alike at friend or foe his caustic jeer.
But ye, tried sailors in the Liberal ship,
Dear as potatoes shortly will become—
Dear as the ruddy claret that I sip—
I cannot brook to think that ye are dumb!