Classic Poem

Lord Lurch, C.B. (and now M.P.),
The Tory victor in Long Lea,
Displayed his own unfailing tact
Concerning the Insurance Act.
He said it was a dreadful thing
(His audience made the welkin ring).
He said it was a painful fact
(They cheered until the ceiling cracked).
A gross abuse of public powers
(His audience buried him in flowers).
While they applauded every word,
In such a way that none were heard,
He swiftly said he would amend,
As his right honourable friend,
The Leader of the Opposition,
Had truly said, that worst condition.
That second colon in Clause Three;
The real blot, the infamy
And shame of this accursed Act . . .
Leaving it otherwise intact.

Then stride about his social pen
And walk and jest with gentlemen,
And praise the Cecils in their pride
(Now the Sassoons are satisfied).
Be friends with Balfour; and not quite
So intimate with Otto Beit;
And watch benignant Hebrews bless
His hatred for its harmlessness;
And steal the plaudits of the poor
By cursing what he dare not cure;
And keep the favours of the rich
By scratching only when they itch,
And mocking only when they wink,
And still have all their fizz to drink,
And still have all their grouse to gorge;
By God! I'd sooner be Lloyd George.