You knew the world, yet pitied it;
Compassion mild, not cynic spleen
Tempered the edge of caustic wit.
Farewell! It dims much pomp and state,
Your title—"Poor Man's Magistrate!"
AN IDYLL OF THE CROWD.
(A Tip (after Tennyson) to Tory Topsawyers.)
Come down, O Scribe, from yonder sniffy height;
What pleasure lives in "sniff" (the Councillor sang),