Is ’gainst him and Parnell;
Wait a little, ye say—nay too long
He has made our fair island a hell;
Let him then die, as all must die, that
Use treason thus as a rod;
Let him fade from the ranks of his Party
Take his foot from the neck that he trod.
They cry out, his elect, his seekers for
Office, who cling to his shame,
They call him sweet light of his Party;