Under the prancing heels of Mr. Smillie?
Humour forbids! And even they
Who toil beneath the so-called sun,
Yet often in an eight-hours' day
Indulge a quiet sense of fun—
These too can see, however dim,
The joke of starving just for Smillie's whim.
And here I note what looks to be
A rent in Labour's sacred fane;
The priestly oracles disagree,