Volume 107 — THE PERILS OF A JESTING PREMIER.

When Premiers try to joke (As they will like other folk) They should really have a care That their meaning be quite plain E'en to Brummagem's slow brain, Or it really isn't fair. For you see a Goodman Dull The jest's flower may not cull, And he'll send a queer epistle To the Times which shows him crunching Gentle irony, and munching Like a donkey at a thistle. The ironical's a trap For your solid sort of chap, Au grand serieux he'll take it, Your elusive little joke, And, like terrier or moke, Dig his teeth in it and shake it. Men will then look on and mock, And the spectacle's a shock To our Commonwealth's stability, For it shows how little wit Goes to governing us and it. E'en in "statesmen of ability." It's so dangerous to be funny! Men may make hardware, and money, Aye, and even a career, Who yet cannot make—or take— A good joke. They're wide awake, Save to wit, though in a peer. Therefore, Primrose, do not jest! It comes badly, at the best, From a man at the State's tiller. The ironical reject Above all, and recollect Every Joe is not a Miller!