By gad, we'll _see_
Who'll be Postmaster-General!
DE YOUNG:
We will--
I'll fight (for I am lame) with any blue
And redolent remain that dares aspire
To wreck the Grand Old Grandson's cabinet.
Here's at you, nosegay!
(_They draw tongues and are about to fight, when from an
adjacent whited sepulcher, enter Swift._)
SWIFT:
Hold! put up your tongues!
Within the confines of this sacred spot
Broods such a holy calm as none may break
By clash of weapons, without sacrilege.
(_Beats down their tongues with a bone._)
Madmen! what profits it? For though you fought
With such heroic skill that both survived,
Yet neither should achieve the prize, for I
Would wrest it from him. Let us not contend,
But friendliwise by stipulation fix
A slate for mutual advantage. Why,
Having the pick and choice of seats, should we
Forego them all but one? Nay, we'll take three,
And part them so among us that to each
Shall fall the fittest to his powers. In brief,
Let us establish a Portfolio Trust.
ESTEE:
Agreed.
DE YOUNG:
Aye, truly, 'tis a greed--and one
The offices imperfectly will sate,
But I'll stand in.
SWIFT:
Well, so 'tis understood,
As you're the junior member of the Trust,
Politically younger and undead,
Speak, Michael: what portfolio do you choose?
DE YOUNG:
I've thought the Postal service best would serve
My interest; but since I have my pick,
I'll take the War Department.
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