I'm a little bit tired—in a physical sense—
Butter, and eggs, and the care of bees!
But my pleasure in pastoral things is immense,
Butter, and eggs, and the care of bees!
My Georgic to-day I must cut short, I fear,
But—if you desire—and we're all of us here,
I may give you a much longer Eclogue—next year!
Butter, and eggs, and the care of bees!
RHYME TO ROSEBERY.
(On his Revival of the Ministerial Whitebait Dinner at the "Ship," Greenwich, Wednesday, August 15, 1894.)
Good, Primrose! If not a fanatical "Saint,"
At least you're a genial "Sinner."
At the thought of a Race—and a Win—you won't faint,
Nor squirm at a loss—with a Dinner!
Pluck, patience, and cheer make good Statesmanlike form.
We trust that you relished the trip, Sir!
If not—yet—"the Pilot who weathered the Storm,"
You're the Skipper who stuck by the "Ship," Sir!
The Old (Parliamentary) Adam.
(On the Eve of Prorogation.)
Would-be Abdiel (M.P.) loquitur:—
With rest-thirst and holiday-yearning to grapple
I strive, but in August begin to despair.
I pity poor Eve with the thirst at her thrapple,
Though what tempted her was a snake and an apple,
My lures are "a brace" and a "pair."