Then Dobbins entered Parliament, and so did Jobbins too,
And each upheld his principles amidst that motley crew—
And the side that Dobbins voted with were victors of the hour.
And Dobbins was made Treasurer while Jobbins' grapes were sour.
Then Dobbins went to work with glee, protecting everything,
And gave his pet proclivities the very fullest swing,
Set all the manger-loving dogs a-barking in his praise,
And raised the Tariff up kite-high, a real four-aces' raise.
He taxed the pots, he taxed the pans, he taxed the children's mugs,
He taxed the brooms, he taxed the mops, He taxed the jars and jugs;
In soft and hardware every line was smothered by his dues,
Except the national tin tax—the Ministerial screws.
He taxed each article of food, each article of wear,
He even taxed fresh water, and he tried to tax fresh air;
He improvised new duties, new taxes by the score,
And when he stopped awhile to think he taxed his brain for more.
And not one blessed class of goods was entered at the port,
But what he advaloremed till he made importers snort;
Till even old Protectionists, grown hoary in the cause,
Began to change to fidgets what had started as applause.
Poor Jobbins suffered hugely by his whilom partner's tricks,
But found it rather dangerous to kick against the pricks;
He had to grin and bear it, as many a worthy man
Has grinned and borne it in his turn since this mad world began.
Now Dobbins, flushed with Fortune's smiles, his high ambition fed,
Bethought him that the time had come when he might safely wed.
So by the wire electrical, as he had nicely planned,
He sent this loving message to the grand old Fatherland.
"Matilda, I am ready, with five thousand pounds a-year;
Come out unto your Dobbins, love, and be his bride so dear;"
To which there sped the answer back that very self-same day,
"As soon as I have packed my things, I'm coming straight away."
Matilda was an heiress of the old blue Bobbins' blood,
Her ancestors owned land and beeves long years before the flood;
One relative, 'tis said, indeed—a chemist, I'll engage—
Sold bottled Protoplasm in the prehistoric age.
Our Dobbins and our Jobbins, too, had loved the maid of old,
But Bobbins père had snubbed them both for lack of needful gold;
Though when the telegram arrived, "Five thousand pounds a-year!"
Pa winked a playful little wink—and said, "Be off, my dear."