SIR WINDBAG: Ha! Think you this politico aspires To _me_ supplant _my_ important post? COUNT LUIE: A royal flush; he doth, for in time past, 'Neath Aguinaldo, he that chair did fill! SIR WINDBAG: But tell me, is this not a pliant race Which skilful hand may at its pleasure mould? COUNT LUIE: 'Tis said the serpent warming on the breast With sting doth ever show its gratitude! SIR WINDBAG: Thou by enigma seemingly imply That all our labors here are but in vain. Methought within thy heart dwelt confidence In the ability of this proud race To guide their ship of state on troubled seas, And trim its sails to meet each threat'ning storm. But now thy cynicism breeds a fear That thy past words do bear "Pickwickian sense." COUNT LUIE: Sir Windbag, thou unto our party grand Art but a convert new, and needs must learn That platforms are the Bible which we read, And to them we do blindly pin our faith. If one has doubts, he, like a Christian true, Must stifle them and reason throw aside, 'Tis thus we from the Sunny South do act, When facts run counter to our party creed. SIR WINDBAG: Alas! I in my innocence did deem The words you uttered in the last campaign Did true portray the situation here, But now I fear they were but party gush. But, ah! "The pen is mightier than the sword." These venomed quills must be from porcupine; For deeper do they bore, as I reflect That I invited all their smarting wounds. I sought to give their idol Worcester but His proper place by "damning with faint praise;" And now they prod me as the muleteer Doth goad his jackass when he thoughtless brays. COUNT LUIE: But, sir, remember that the ass can kick, And that when kicking, asses never bray, So gird your armor on and lop each head Who hath at your dilemma dared to scoff. SIR WINDBAG: But Riggs! he hath in beaten trail proclaimed What the old regimen hath always mouthed. While I the "Era New" did bold announce, And now my head is crowned with pricking thorns. COUNT LUIE, (_reflectively_): Thine adversaries, though at vantage now, Should be subdued by strategy and guile. I from sore strait triumphant did emerge Through trenchant pen of a compatriot. This noble scion of Democracy Did wield a telling blow in my behalf And thrust the adversary 'neath the rib, Laying him low in controversial dust.