HE was up on the hustings, and thrashed with his tongue, The air in a socialistic vein, And as an employer, for the workers he felt, By proxy,--a sympathetic pain! A pang, that the few could wallow in their wealth, Whilst many--their brothers--should sweat, "But ha!" shouted he, with a chuckle, and a grin, "You'll be having a millenium of it yet!" He taught that the masters should share with the men, He scouted, with pitiless vim, The right of the master, to more than his man, For his man was the master of him, Then they flourished their hats, for the precept, with hope, That to practice, he might be content; But the confidence trick, is a hustings resource, And to part, wasn't just what he meant: He spoke, as a speech is the fashion to-day, In loud paradoxical words, As a titled Premier of the Commons, would shout, "Down down with the House of Lords." But still, 'twas a hopeful, and beautiful proof, That the cause of the toiler, was just, And he wouldn't have to wait, very long for a snack, From the sugar ornamented upper crust, In a very little time, he'd be gathering his whack, From the azure-fired diamond--upper dust, "You'll be having a millenium of it yet, working men, Put me into Parliament, and then, You'll find it a fact, we'll pass every act, For your chums, and your kids, working men, The hours you will work, will be eight, working men, On Saturday, not quarter so late, And another holiday, in the middle of the week, We'll give you, by the laws of the state, With a capon, or a duck, on your plate, O put me into Parliament, and _wait_! You'll be having the land parcelled out into bits, You'll be all of you fixed in the soil, And spontaniety of crops you will reap, Without any trouble or toil. The screw will extend for each working man, Employers will have to screw back, Till tailored by the act, in polished top hats, You'll all be as gents in the track! We'll cut away the taxes, by the laws that we'll pass! You won't have to pay any rate! You'll be having a millenium of it yet, working men, O put me into Parliament, and _wait_!" And thus with emotional foliated flights, He spoke like the clashing of swords, As a titled Premier of the Commons would shout, "Down down with the House of Lords!" He finished his speech in a thunder of cheers, The welkin was knocked into splits, And he smuggled off home, by the rear, or his trap, They'd have looted for souvenir bits! * * * * *