CLIVE. ; 43

All-agog to have me trespass, clear the fence, be Clive
their king ?

Higher warrant must you show me ere I set one foot
before

T’other in that dark direction, though I stand for ever-
more

Poor as Job and meek as Moses. Evermore? No!
By and by

Job grows rich and Moses valiant, Clive turns out less
wise than I.

Don’t object “ Why call him friend, then?” Power
is power, my boy, and still

Marks a man,—God’s gift magnific, exercised for
good or ill.

You've your boot now on my hearth-rug, tread what
was a tiger’s skin ;

Rarely such a royal monster as I lodged the bullet
in!

True, he murdered half a village, so his own death
came to pass ;

Still, for size and beauty, cunning, courage — ah, the
brute he was!

Why, that Clive,— that youth, that greenhorn, that
quill-driving clerk, in fine, —

He sustained a siege in Arcot... But the world
knows! Pass the wine.

Where did I break off at? How bring Clive in? Oh,
you mentioned “ fear!”