If not—if all things go by jobbery

And tape dyed red with sin,

Come, let him make a small collusion

And, when he writes his next effusion,

Grant me, we'll say, six years' exclusion

From re-assessments of his robbery.

And then—I may come in.

But, if the fiend still stays importunate,

My blood is up. Ad lib.,

Till at the door the bailiff rattles

And rude men reave me of my chattels,

I shall prolong these wordy battles,

And may the just cause prove the fortunate;

Phœbus defend my nib!

So long as gray goose yields a pinion,

So long as ink is damp,

Mine to resist the loathly fetters

Of D. Lloyd George and his abettors,

Posting innumerable letters

To Carter (D. Lloyd George's minion),

Minus the penny stamp.

Evoe.