It happened to Lord Lundy then, 
As happens to so many men: 
Towards the age of twenty-six, 
They shoved him into politics; 
In which profession he commanded 
The Income that his rank demanded 
In turn as Secretary for 
India, the Colonies, and War. 
But very soon his friends began 
To doubt is he were quite the man: 
Thus if a member rose to say 
(As members do from day to day), 
'Arising out of that reply . . .!' 
Lord Lundy would begin to cry. 
A Hint at harmless little jobs 
Would shake him with convulsive sobs. 
While as for Revelations, these 
Would simply bring him to his knees, 
And leave him whimpering like a child. 
It drove his colleagues raving wild! 
They let him sink from Post to Post, 
From fifteen hundred at the most 
To eight, and barely six-and then 
To be Curator of Big Ben!. . . 
And finally there came a Threat 
To oust him from the Cabinet! 

The Duke - his aged grand-sire - bore 
The shame till he could bear no more. 
He rallied his declining powers, 
Summoned the youth to Brackley Towers, 
And bitterly addressed him thus- 
'Sir! you have disappointed us! 
We had intended you to be 
The next Prime Minister but three: 
The stocks were sold; the Press was squared: 
The Middle Class was quite prepared. 
But as it is! . . . My language fails! 
Go out and govern New South Wales!' 

The Aged Patriot groaned and died: 
And gracious! how Lord Lundy cried!