“Prophet,” said I, “of things evil, Trade is going to the devil, Is the plea of you and LOWTHER, CHAPLIN, many another bore. Sophists dull, yet all undaunted, _do_ you think the thing that’s wanted By our land, depression-haunted,――tell me truly, I implore,―― Is it, _can_ it be Protection? Answer plainly, I implore!” Quoth DUNRAVEN, “Tax once more!” “Prophet,” said I, “of things evil, I _don’t_ wish to be uncivil, But, by heaven! this Fair Trade figment is becoming a big bore. Think you Corn with taxes laden means an economic Aidenn For that somewhat ancient maiden who ‘protected’ was of yore, For that very ancient maiden, Agriculture?” With a roar Yelled DUNRAVEN “Tax once more!” “Then it’s time that we were parting, Parroteer!” I cried, upstarting, “Get thee back to silly Sheffield, twaddle on St. Stephen’s floor, _I_ require no further token of the rot your League hath spoken, Fair Trade phalanx to be broken by experience sad and sore. Take thy BEAKEY’S words to heart, who said Protection’s day was o’er!” Quoth DUNRAVEN, “Tax once more!” And DUNRAVEN, dolefuller waxing, still stands croaking of Corn-taxing, Underneath the bust of COBDEN, just above my study-door, And his talk has all the seeming of a monomaniac’s dreaming―― Here I woke, and day was streaming through the lattice on the floor, And I hope that no such vision e’er again my ears will bore With the burden “Tax once more!” _Punch_, November 22, 1884. ―――――――― THE RAVENOUS BULL AND THE BICYCLE. (_With Apologies._) My name is William Rory, and I’m going to tell a story, Tell the story of an accident I’ve never told before. How when coming home from Dover I felt myself in clover, And I will say, moreover, that my feet were rather sore; The landlord said, “You’ll rue it,” But I said, “I mean to do it.” But I’ll do it nevermore. And right well do I remember, ’twas early in September, When that landlord said, “I’d rue it,” as he stood against the door, When my feet were sore with walking for that day I had been stalking Up and down the streets of Dover, where I’d never been before, And I squinted at that landlord, and his warning did ignore. But I’ll do it nevermore. So says I, “You’re only joking, and at me it’s fun you’re poking.” But the landlord looked quite solemn, and spat upon the floor. And says he, “You must be silly to attempt a road so hilly. And see the time for starting, why it’s just now striking four! Pray, sir, now do not do it, but stay over, I implore.” This he oft had said before.