Once on a Commission dreary sat Dunraven, worn and weary.

Hearing many a snuffling Hebrew, many a Sweater's victim poor,

Oft he nodded, nearly dozing, but, on the Commission's closing,

Schemed out a Report, supposing that by such Report he'd score.

"Tone it down," his colleagues muttered; "like a sucking-dove let's roar,

Gently purr, and nothing more."

"Be those words our sign of parting!" cried Dunraven, swift upstarting;

"Sweating's an accursed system, but if now our toil is o'er,

We leave twaddle as sole token of the swelling words we've spoken.

Public faith in us is broken! Bah! I quit, I "bust", boil o'er!

Take my seat, sign your Report, about such bosh my spirit bore?"

Quoth Dunraven, "Nevermore!"