What do _you_ think of it, TOBY, my boy?
The Session's Bills are half-forgotten things.
Is there discussion in our little Isle?
Let Parties broken so remain.
Factions are hard to reconcile:
Prate not of Law and Order--by the main!
There _is_ a fussiness worse than death
Trouble on trouble, pain on pain,
Lost labour, and sheer waste of breath,
Sore task to hearts dead beat by many wars,
And ears grown dumb with listening to loud party jars.

V.

But propt on sand and pebbles rolly-olly
How sweet (while briny breezes fan us lowly)
With half-dropt eyelids still,
Beneath a boat-side tarry, coally,
To watch the long white breakers drawing slowly
Up to the curling turn and foamy spill--
To hear far-off the wheezy Town-Crier calling,
"Oh, yes! Oh, yes!" Truly, TOBIAS mine,
This _solitude à deux_ is most divine;
A Congress we--of Two; where no outfalling
Is possible. Our Anti-Labour line
Is wordlessly prolonged, stretched out beside the brine.

VI.

Such Lotos-eating all at times must seek!