They're fangless, though their tongues be forkèd.
"They toil not, neither do they spin,"—
I said, of the old Tory lilies.
Now they will have to work, to win,
And that the Rads don't see—the sillies!
Salisbury's Tories were one thing,
My Unionists are another matter;
My Ransom-Song no more I sing,—
Then I was bowler, now I'm batter.
We have new wickets, smooth and dry,