But now that pitch is queered!
They swear that I apostatised
To follow W.G.,
And patter about "Parnellite juice,"
And holloa after me—
Chorus.
"Get your HARCOURT! Get your HARCOURT!"
But, with quip, and jibe, and flout,
I completely put them out.
"Get your HARCOURT! Get your HARCOURT!"