And stomachs go empty, and brains slowly soften,
And sense sick with dizziness,
All in the name of the bosh men embody
In one clap-trap phrase that dupes many a noddy,
That—business is business!
Business? Yes, precious bad business for them, Sir,
Whose joyless enslavement you take with such phlegm, Sir,
Suppose, to enhance
Their small share of ease, such as you, were content, Sir,
To lower a trifle your precious "per cent.," Sir,