To follow W.G.,
And patter about "Parnellite juice,"
And holloa after me--

_Chorus._

"Get your HARCOURT! Get your HARCOURT!"
But, with quip, and jibe, and flout,
I completely put them out.
"Get your HARCOURT! Get your HARCOURT!"
But I beat them, and their sun goes down!

They try all sorts of "counters" to
My slogging strokes--in vain.
The "Thunderer" slates me every day,
But still I slog again.
Old W.G. in 'Ninety-Three
May form a Cabinet;
Then his first thought will be of Me,
And all will cry (you bet!)--

_Chorus._

"Get your HARCOURT! Get your HARCOURT!
Whoever may stand out,
Malwood's Squire must join, no doubt.
Get your HARCOURT! Get your HARCOURT!"
And _I'll_ mock them when their sun goes down!

* * * * *