Party prospects dark, uncertain, sombre as night's sable curtain,
Filled them, thrilled them with fantastic funkings seldom felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of faint hearts, they kept repeating
Futile formulas, entreating Closure for the "Obstructive Bore"—
With a view to Truth defeating, such they dubbed "Obstructive Bore,"
As sought Truth, and nothing more.
Presently my wrath waxed stronger; hesitating then no longer,
"Cur!" I said; "mad mongrel, truly off your precious hide, I'll score;
Like your cheek to come here yapping, just as I was gently napping;
You deserve a strapping,—yapping, snapping at my study door.