Life (barring the fun) like "The Mulberry One," seems a mixture of diddling and snivelling.
There's LAWSON who jaws on the Abstinence Cause on, and would lay his claws on the Nation,
And put sudden stopper on all that's improper (as he thinks) without compensation;
And then there's Sir EDWARD, who, when he goes bedward, must have his reflections nightmarish!
It seems, from such rigs, that our biggest Big Wigs are scarcest to govern a parish.
MCDOUGALL again, is agog to restrain all that gives his soul pain—it's a squeamish one!—
He thinks he's a stayer as Jabberwock-slayer, mere Angry Boy he, not a Beamish One!
These Oracles windy do raise such a shindy, and kick such a doose of a dust up,
One would think without them we were wrong stern and stem, and the whole of creation would bust up.
But verily why men should new worship Hymen,—who, just as unshackled as Cupid,—