Sends them off to their holes, as the light does night vermin.
It really won't do. To your patron, the Czar,
When the now forming file of the newspapers comes, he
Will laugh out in scorn with a royal "Ha! ha!
To think Aberdeen was so helplessly clumsy."
So, call him what you, for about forty years,
Were—a Tory—or aught that comes into your noddle,
One only regrets that in these days one hears
Of so very few Tories who're built on his model.
He remembers the service by Palmerston done