This same chap with long legs twining Irish anguish chuckling o'er,
Tories christened, "Brave BALFOUR."

Then methought the air grew denser. I remembered stout Earl SPENCER,
And the silly pseudo-Seraph who "obstructed" him of yore;
I remembered Maamtrasma, faction, partisan miasma,
CHURCHILL--CHURCHILL and his henchman, lank and languorous BALFOUR.
"What," I cried, "was ARTHUR, then, or RANDOLPH, in those days of yore?"
Quoth the bird, "Obstructive Bore."

"Prophet!" said I, "of things evil, prophet callous, cold, uncivil,
By your favourite '_Tu quoque_' how can _you_ expect to score?
Though your cheek may be undaunted, little memory is wanted,
And your conscience _must_ be haunted by bad memories of yore,
When you were--ah! well, _what_ were you? Tell me frankly, I implore!"
Quoth the bird, "Obstructive Bore."

"Prophet," said I, "of all evil! that we're going to the devil
All along of that 'Obstruction'--which of old you did adore.
Ere you won official Aidenn--is the charge with which is laden
Every cackling speech you make--if you _do_ represent BALFOUR,
That mature and minxish 'maiden' whom the PATS call 'Miss BALFOUR,'"--
Quoth the bird, "Obstructive Bore!"

"Here! 'tis time you were departing, bird or not," I cried, upstarting;
"Get you back unto the Carlton, they on parrot-cries set store.
Leave no feather as a token of the lies that you have spoken
Of the Man, Grand, Old, Unbroken! Quit his bust above my door.
Take thy claws from off his crown, and take thy beak from off my door!"
Quoth the bird, "Obstructive Bore!"