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Nor hither 'Squires alone resort
With water to dilute their port,
Walk off the aches which riding gave,
And tip the go-by to the grave—
That only port they still would pass,
As Time's their only hated glass:—
For Scarbro' parsons quit their church,
For Scarbro' schoolmasters their birch;
And York and Lancaster agree
To sip their amicable tea.
No more indeed, the mortal fight
Is waged by roses red and white,
But on th' arena now appear,
Embattled, Bell and Lancaster.
Fiercely th' inglorious conflict rages,
Where pages are opposed by pages;

90

And press-men and compositor
Maintain the theologic war,
While black and white the bearings blot
Upon each angry chieftain's coat,
O! might the muse one question blab,
To combatant in black and drab!
Pardon and ponder the inquiry—
Cœlestibus tantœne iræ?
 

The reader will not fail to remark the appropriateness of a metaphor, originally founded on sand.