It is not imaginable among comparative pygmies.
But Rockney's combat with his fellow-politicians of the Press partook of the Swiftian against the Johnsonian in form.

He was a steam ram that drove straight at the bulky broadside of the enemy.
Premiers of parties might be Captains of the State for Rockney: Rockney was the premier's pilot, or woe to him.

Woe to the country as well, if Rockney's directions for steering were unheeded.

He was a man of forethought, the lover of Great Britain: he shouted his directions in the voice of the lover of his mistress, urged to rebuke, sometimes to command, the captain by the prophetic intimations of a holier alliance, a more illumined prescience.

Reefs here, shallows there, yonder a foul course: this is the way for you! The refusal of the captain to go this way caused Rockney sincerely to discredit the sobriety of his intellect.
It was a drunken captain.