Classic Poem

To left, here's B., half-Communist,
Who talks a chastened treason,
And C., a something-else in " ist,"
Harangues, to right, on Reason.

B., from his " tribune," fulminates
At Throne and Constitution,
Nay — with the walnuts — advocates
Reform by revolution;

While C.'s peculiar coterie
Have now in full rehearsal
Some patent new Philosophy
To make doubt universal.

And yet — why not? If zealots burn,
Their zeal has not affected
My taste for salmon and Sauterne,
Or I might have objected: —

Friend B., the argument you choose
Has been by France refuted;
And C., mon cher, your novel views
Are just Tom Paine, diluted;

There's but one creed, — that's Laisses faire,
Behold its mild apostle!
My dear, declamatory pair,
Although you shout and jostle,

Not your ephemeral hands, nor mine,
Time's Gordian knots shall sunder, —
Will laid three casks of this old wine:
Who'll drink the last, I wonder?