Where naughty "niggers" have gone in for pillage;
When Someone condescends to be high-born,
Or deigns to die, who now shall toot the horn,
Or twang the lyre, emitting verse divine,
For Fame and—say, about a pound per line?
I must submit. I have not been "submitted,"
But poetless John Bull is to be pitied.
Of course self-praise is no "recommendation,"
(In Gladstone's sense) or else, unhappy nation,
I, even I, could spare you natural worry at,