  Paradoxical Words H H E 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! With the conscience of one, who believes he has done, What was really the best, for himself, He retired into bed, that night, and he fell Fast asleep, like a saint on a shelf. It might have been a very short period of time, Or maybe it might have been long, When he woke with a buzz like a bee in his ear, Or the purr of a tom cat's song. It might be the bizz of a wasp, or the hum, Of a foraging blue bottle fly, But no! 'twas the sound of the whizz of a drill! 'Twas then that he opened his eye. He jumped up in bed, and he cried with an oath, "What's that, that you're doing, you scamp?" To a burglar brave, who was sampling his room, With a bag, jemmy, brace, and a lamp. Then the burglar grinned in an amicable way, For a diplomatic cracker was he, And he wouldn't take offence at the oath of a man, Who had only awoke, said he, "I was down at the meetin' an' heerd every word, When you gave out the socialist pay, An' I am a bloke wot swears by the truth Of the beautiful words that you say. That's whoy I am here, for my slice of the swag, That you've pinched, by employin' your men. I'm tottin' up the stock, in a confidential way, For an equal division of it then, For mate, I'm a pal of a Socialistic turn, Wot tries to do everythink straight, We'll halve them between us, the jewels and coin, An' make an even deal of the plate." illustration But out from the bed, with a jump in his shirt, The candidate sprang to the floor, Said he, "I may preach, but to practice is bosh!" And leaped with a shout to the door. But the cracker of cribs, with a colt in his fist, Was first, and with that at the nose Of the candidate, muttered "You'll die of the cold, If you don't burrow under the clothes! "So don't make a row," said that burglar brave, "But jerk into bed out of sight, I hate to be put upon when I'm at work, An' Boss, this is my busy night! "Now jest let me fasten a gag on yer mouth, You know that it's wrong, to alarm Your neighbours at night, when they're wantin' to sleep, Quick! into this noose with each arm, There! now, with that beautiful knot on your pins, You cawn't say as how yer to blame, If I pinch all I can in the regular way, Of the grabber's contemptible game!" He opened the safe, and he smashed the bureau, He looted the drawers, and shelf, Of the plate, and the clocks, and the watches, and cash, From the cabinet, quick as an elf. Slid everything down to his pal, with a rope, And then he slid down it himself, They drove with the swag, from the terrace amain, In a couple of hired out traps; And the city, was billed on the following day, With the Special Editions in caps! 'Twas a reasonable period, from the incident above, That a solemn deputation came down, For the candidate to speak in a socialistic vein, To the voters of the east of London town: "We'll be looking for you there, on waggon No. I. Near the arch, that's of marble, in the park," But he pointed to the door "O tell them that I'm dead; For cram it! I am not up to the mark," |
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