Page:Two Mock Epics (Hanuman and Tantum Religio), Lyrics, Post Meridian Verse, The Turret Captain's Toast and other Verses.pdf/103

 And labour hugged its chain’ contented,

Wages being also cent-per-cented;

At least, it should have, but th’ unlettered,

Always a thankless sort of sinners,

Now paying doubly for their dinners,

Refused to find their status bettered:

As though the paying more were not

Itself the pleasure to be sought

By civilised and liberal nations,

Not the mere bulk of beer and rations,—

A gross detail of second-rate

Importance m a perfect state.

Howe’er this be, if nerve and muscle

Could hold their heads up in the tussle

And live content with what they got so,

With many a one, alas! ’twas not so.

The feebler, sacked and shewn the door,

Were twice more wretched than before.

Now, of these most unlucky devils

Who sank to subter-social levels,

The bulk were of that gifted race

Which always takes the highest place

As its of right; then, unaccountably,

While drudging Scots and Teutons mount ably,

Display through depths of brawl and drinking

Their mastery in the art of sinking:

In fact,—a fact that really sad is,—

These geniuses were mostly Paddies,

And, to the honour of their nation,

All of the Catholic persuasion.

Thus if, by chance, they got a job, all

Their money went to swell the obol: