Tufnell! For the love of mercy, Let me go for half an hour— I’ll be back before that proser Hath discussed the price of flour. Don’t you hear, he’s just beginning To investigate the rate Of the Mecklenburg quotations, Metage, lighterage, and freight? Next, I know, he’ll pass to Dantzic, With a glimpse at Rostock wheat— I have seen the whole already In his Economic sheet. See! upon the backward benches There reposes stealthy Peel— Dreaming, doubtless, that he’s smothered In an atmosphere of meal. Palmerston’s recumbent yonder— Hawes is sleeping by the door; Even Russell’s tiny nostril Quivers with a nascent snore. Let me go—nay, do not hold me So intensely by the coat; I assure you, on my honour, I’ll be back in time to vote. Oh, the night-winds wander sweetly O’er my hot and throbbing brow! What a contrast is the moonlight To the scene I left just now! Let me walk a little onward Underneath the budding trees, Where the faint perfume is wafted On the pinions of the breeze: Overhead a thousand starlets Glisten in the robe of night, And the earth is wrapped in slumber With a pure and calm delight. By your leave, good Master Tufnell, I shall stay a little here; You have plenty noodles yonder Who are safe enough to cheer Wilson’s dunderhead discourses, Or the cant of Labouchere!