Classic Poem

I SING of a queer set of fellows,
Who met once a week just to prate;
Some gabble, and some blow the bellows,
While others, good lack!
Go clickety clack,
With tongue and with wrist,
Knee, body, and fist,
And bellow, harangue, and debate;
Till the President, finding it past ten o'clock,
Cries, Silence, and gives with his hammer a knock,
Look 'ye here,
Mr. Chair,
All confusion, I declare —
All confusion, all confusion.
All confusion, I declare;
Order, order, order, order,
Chair, chair, chair!

The question for this night's discussion —
Pray, gentlemen, be better bred —
Is this — if a Turk or a Russian
Were born, if you please,
At the Antipodes,
Where moon there is none,
And never a sun,
But darkness is light,
And morning is night,
He would walk on his heels or his head?
Will nobody get up? The evening grows late,
Hate off! A new Member begins the debate.
Look'ye here,
Mr. Chair, &c., &c.

He sat down — then up rose a second,
The second he called up another:
Four, five, six, and seven were reckoned,
Eight, nine, ten, eleven,
To eloquence given;
All chatter and prate,
Harangue and debate,
Till argument sticks;
And boxes and kicks
Bring noise, and confusion, and bother,
Till the President, finding it past ten o'clock,
Cries, Silence, and gives with his hammer a knock.
Look ye here,
Mr. Chair, &c., &c.