Would prove his taste for place and power.
First Follett’s hand, his skill to try,
Upon the seals bewilder’d laid;
But back recoil’d—he scarce knew why—
Of Lyndhurst’s angry scowl afraid.
Next Stanley rush’d with frenzied air;
His eager haste brook’d no delay:
He rudely seized the Foreign chair,
And bade poor Cupid trudge away.
With woeful visage Melbourne sate—