POETRY.

Globe, Volume I, Issue 6, 6 June 1874, Page 3

POETRY.

LINES Written at Midnight by an ex-M.P. (But we think we have read them before), I’m all in a flutter, I scarcely can utter The words to my tongue that come daucing —come dancing I’ve had such a dream, that I’m sure it must seem To incredulous ears like romancing—romancing. No doubt it was brought on by poor Arthur Orton, Who puzzled me quite with his stories—his stories ; Or through losing my seat in the galling defeat We have suffered just now from the Tories —the Tories. I dreamt Gladstone was walking with Homer and talking The very best Greek he was able—was able, While Mr Disraeli and Dr Kenealy Were dancing a jig on the table—the table, A Prince in the middle stood playing the fiddle; And Lowe was intoning some catches—some catches, Which, he sadly disclosed, he at one time composed In praise of his duty on matches—on matches. Then I, much distressed, said I freely confessed That Luie had turned out a dodger—a dodger When Baignet and Whallcy swore Coffee , Calcalli

Was the true and undoubted Sir Roger— Sir Roger. The monarch, excited at being thus slighted, The party assembled would ogle—would ogle— And turning to Goschen, affirmed with emotion, That his father was really old Bogle—old Bogle.

There poor Mr Hawkins sat darning his stockings, Sad sign of his state impecunious—pecunious, While a certain great judge, against whom I’ve a grudge, Declared he himself, Sir, was Junius —was Junius. And Algernon Swinburne, with mo testy inborn, Stood blushing in silent confusion —confusion. Because Martin Tuppcr, who’d dropped into supper, Had made an improper allusion —allusion.

Then on a tight rope Bismarck and the Pope, No longer malicious or sullen —or sullen, In a true Plighland fling would exultingly spring, To a bagpipe attuned by Paul Cullen— Paul Cullen. And when they came down the bold Captain Brown, Advancing with Marshal MacMahon — Mac Mali on, The Archbishop addressed with a humble request I hat he would continue to play on—to play on. In strains sentimental, then Arytou the gentle Serenaded the “ Dairyman’s Daughter”— man’s Daughter ; But Hooker of Kew quite boisterous grew, And hustled him into the water—the water ; When Spurgeon, attired in a dress much admired— A blue skirt, green pelisse, and pink bonnet—pink bonnet— Though uneasily fat, made a dash at his hat, And then began jumping upon it —upon it. I’m really perplexed to say what happened next, But, if I remember, the Claimant—the Claimant— Expressed his regrets that some of his debts Were unlikely to meet with prompt payment—prompt payment. This being the case, with a very long face, I made an appeal to Lord Rivers —Lord Rivers— And I’m sorry to tell that he sent me to—well— Where I’m sure to escape the cold shivers cold shivers. Behind Dr Gumming a banjo was thrumming, And singing the '* Last Rose of Summer” —of summer— While Archbishop Manning his visage was scanning, And drinking his health in a rummer—a rummer. Mesdames Tredgett and Jury flounced out in a fury ; They said Mr Gladstone had kissed them —had kissed them ; And called Antonelli and Chief Bapon Kelly To hasten at once and assist them—assist them. In painful surprise I attempted to rise And study in detail the matter—the matter, When heels over head, plump down on my bed, Tumbled “Tich” with a deuce of a clatter —a clatter. Such then is the scheme I recall of my dream, And its features as now I descry them—descry them, But I just wish to say that I hold, by the way, Certain Bonds, Sir, if you’d like to buy them—to buy them. “ Pall Mall Budget.”