The Premier sat him on a chair; He cannot choose but hear; And thus spake on that curious man, The Whitehall Mariner: “The ship, once built, was found to float Without a single prop! And then she tried her measured mile Midst many a cheery stop. “Her armament, ten ‘sixty-fours,’ Marked ‘Eighteen-fifty-three,’ Of not the very slightest use: Still, thus we went to sea! “It wasn’t quite the sort of thing We felt we should provide――――” The Premier here looked t’ward the House: There seemed some row inside. The Speaker sits within his chair; Red as a rose is he, With effort to restrain in bounds The Merry Irishry. The Premier, when he noteth this, Prefers the tale to hear; So thus spake on that curious man, The Whitehall Mariner. “And now the Press-blast came, and it Was critical and strong; It noted all the various things That somehow _would_ go wrong. “The shaft would halt, and bend, and break; The guns seemed all accurst; For, loaded slowly, one by one, They, one by one, did burst. “And then there came of gibes and sneers An overwhelming swarm: And such a row got up, we found The situation warm! “For Reed wrote letters columns long, And panic filled the air; We didn’t know which way to turn The row was everywhere! The row was there, the row was here, The row was all around. Eftsoons up went the Income-tax To ninepence in the pound! “At length an Admiralty Goose,―― The brute you’ll know at sight,―― Wheeled on the scene, and vowed that soon ’Twould set all matters right. “’Tis ever thus that brute doth boast, And will,――till some commotion Make plain we’ve but a paper fleet Wherewith to rule the Ocean. “It eateth up the Estimates, By threats ’tis ne’er deterred; It blundereth and plundereth,―― A most ill-omened bird! “And as it swalloweth each sum Without remorse or shame, And question shuns,――that shaft and guns Keep up the same old game. “Not one, but scores on scores, while I, Poor minion of the Board, From its foul wake, my flight to take, At present can’t afford. “And so the Admiralty Goose Soars on; and men may hollo, And call me any names they like,―― Alas! I’m bound to follow! “But from red-tape and jobbery, I feel at times nigh stirred Away to break!――Perdition take That most ill-omened bird!” * * * * * “Good gracious, Whitehall Mariner, Why not from bonds break loose? Strike branch and root, by Jove! and shoot That Admiralty Goose!” _Punch._ May 23, 1885. ―――― THE RIME OF THE ANTIENT MISSIONERE. It was an antient missionere, And he stoppeth one of three, The other two had trains to catch; So the missionere caught me.