As I reflect that this tyrannic act
Runs counter to the doctrines thou dost teach,
Because, you bet, "they know just what they want."

SIR WINDBAG:
But will the rabble not thy words recall,
And like to mud, flung from the grutter deep,
Will they not sore disfigure and besmirch
Thy reputation for consistency?

COUNT LUIE:
Fear not; we who do ornament the bar
Can twist and turn as doth the shuttle-cock,
And in our mouths today words have a ring
Which changes with tomorrow's rising sun.

SIR WINDBAG:
I quick discern the import of thy speech,
And in the past have seen it verified.
If mem'ries of the people were not short,
Disaster to us patriots would befall.
When like a parson one can slip the tongue
And speed it like a race-horse on its course,
'Tis well; but let some ill-bred boor
Bold interruption make, in query's form,
The discourse of its symmetry is shorn,
While bond of sympathy 'twixt him who speaks
And those who list receives a brutral shock,
Which doth demand dexterity to soothe.
Thus, when I wisdom spouted at the club,
A man most pestulent did query put
Anent the spreading of our civic rule
O'er Moros, if it proved to be the case
That they demur and, "knowing what they want,"
Prefer to rule themselves in custom's groove.
I, loyal to the ethics of our craft
Tried to becloud the query, and declared
That Moros loved the Filipinos well.
But this persistent boor did pin me down
Until imprudently I answered, "No!"
And this unwisdom now doth trouble me.

COUNT LUIE:
But, gentle Windbag, these were idle words
Which on the record have no place. 'Twere well
To quick erase them from the memory:
Words only spoken vanish into air.

SIR WINDBAG:
Thou dost console me, Luie, and I feel
A kindred spirit fills thy giant form;
But tell me, from among thy many friends
Are hearts that for me beat in sympathy?

COUNT LUIE, _(eying the ceiling):_
Good Windbag, a searching introspection
Finds bu