IE:
But softly, friend, if this thy doctrine be,
'Twere best to pack thy grip and ready stand
To get thee hence; for in these lovely Isles
There be not seats of honor to go round.

SIR WINDBAG:
Ha! Think you this politico aspires
To _me_ supplant _my_ important post?

COUNT LUIE:
A royal flush; he doth, for in time past,
'Neath Aguinaldo, he that chair did fill!

SIR WINDBAG:
But tell me, is this not a pliant race
Which skilful hand may at its pleasure mould?

COUNT LUIE:
'Tis said the serpent warming on the breast
With sting doth ever show its gratitude!

SIR WINDBAG:
Thou by enigma seemingly imply
That all our labors here are but in vain.
Methought within thy heart dwelt confidence
In the ability of this proud race
To guide their ship of state on troubled seas,
And trim its sails to meet each threat'ning storm.
But now thy cynicism breeds a fear
That thy past words do bear "Pickwickian sense."

COUNT LUIE:
Sir Windbag, thou unto our party grand
Art but a convert new, and needs must learn
That platforms are the Bible which we read,
And to them we do blindly pin our faith.
If one has doubts, he, like a Christian true,
Must stifle them and reason throw aside,
'Tis thus we from the Sunny South do act,
When facts run counter to our party creed.

SIR WINDBAG:
Alas! I in my innocence did deem
The words you uttered in the last campaign
Did true portray the situation here,
But now I fear they were but party gush.
But, ah! "The pen is mightier than the sword."
These venomed quills must be from porcupine;
For deeper do they bore, as I reflect
That I invited all their smarting wounds.
I sought to give their idol Worcester but
His proper place by "damning with faint praise;"
And now they prod me as the muleteer
Doth goad his jackass when he thoughtless brays.

COUNT LUIE:
But, sir, remember that the ass can kick,
And that when kicking, asses never bray,
So gird your armor on and lop each head
Who hath