ROLLITTUS moves, there's going to be a row,
And lo! the mingled ranks of Greece and Troy
Close 'gainst the Amazons. Her steed, a toy,
A hobby-horse, that any maid may mount,
Is not--just now--of any great account.
Her phantom spear will pierce no stout male mail;
But should ROLLITTUS _not_--(confound him!)--fail,
A female host, well armed, and _not_ on hobbies,
Might prove as dangerous as a batch of Bobbies.
The fair FAWCETTA then must be thrown over;
PENTHESILEA finds no hero-lover
In either host. PRIAM, abroad, is dumb.
Ah, maiden-hosts, man's love for you's a hum.
Each fears you--in the foeman's cohorts thrown,
But _neither side desires you in its own!_
The false GLADSTONIUS first, he whom you nourish,
A snake in your spare bosoms, dares to flourish
Fresh arms against you; potent, though polite,
He fain would bow you out of the big fight,
Civilly shelve you. "Don't kick up a row,
And--spoil my game! Another day, not now,
There's a _dear_ creature!" CHAMBERLAINIUS, too,
Hard as a nail, and squirmy as a screw,
Sides with the elder hero, just for once;
CHAPLINIUS also, active for the nonce
On the Greek side, makes up the Traitrous Three,
One from each faction! Ah! 'tis sad to see
PENTHESILEA, fierce male foes unite
In keeping female warriors from the fight;
Yet think, look round, and--you _may_ find they're right!