A David come to judgment!
"The rate plague has developed to an alarming extent in Thanet, and considerable anxiety is felt, especially as there appears to be no effective preparation of poison to exterminate them."—Evening Paper.
And Thanet is not the only place.
THE TYPE-SLINGER.
Biting and keen as any razor
The fluent pen of Lovat Fraser;
And swift as arrows, thick as hail,
His outbursts in The Daily Mail,
Exposing in impassioned phrase
The Premier’s wild and wicked ways.
And yet the Premier doesn’t squirm,
No, not a bit—the pachyderm!
But goes about with cheerful mien,
As if such things had never been.
So Lovat Fraser grows emphatic
In efforts to be more dogmatic,
And down the column, once a week,
His shrill italics fairly shriek.
But does the Premier bow his back
And go and give himself the sack?
Not he. Indeed, for all he troubles,
His critic might be blowing bubbles.
It’s up to Lovat Fraser now
To make an even bigger row;
I’d like to see the sturdy fellow
Write articles that simply bellow.
I think the Premier might perhaps
Shiver and possibly collapse
If Lovat got to work in "caps."