Part 4

Most well-behaved little Prince,-- As the small boy Who will one day be the Sovereign Lord Of certain other small boys In whom I am interested I hasten to assure you Of my loyalty to the Imperial House Of which you are the joy and hope, And of my respect for your own podgy little person. To-day, I need scarcely tell you, my dear little Prince, Is a very big day for you, Inasmuch as To-day your excellent parents-- Their Royal Highnesses The Duke and Duchess of Cornwall and York, KG.-- Return from their wanderings, Laden, I am given to understand, With presents for his Royal Highness Prince Edward of York, Who, I am given to understand, Has been a very good boy During these long weeks of separation. I am quite sure That you deserve these presents, And that your Grandmama Will be able to give your parents a very good account of you, And that your Grandpapa, With that tact which is only one of many of his excellent qualities, Will refrain from making reports Which might lead to parental chastisement, I remember quite well That when my own Mama and Papa Returned once from a little jaunt They brought back with them, As a present for me, A tin cylinder with a spike to it, Which you set on a piece of wood And spun round; Then you looked through some holes in the tin cylinder And beheld many wonderful things, Such as a little girl skipping, And jockeys riding a steeplechase on tigers. If your Papa, my dear little Prince, Has not brought you one of those, Be sure you ask for it. It is not rude to ask for what you do not see in the window, Providing you say "Please." And now before I go Let me add a few words Of kindly admonition. I hope you will grow up to be a good and great man, And that you will never give your parents Cause for sorrow, By turning Socialist, Or newspaper editor, Or attempting to imitate these Odes. To your infant mind This last crime May appear to be the most innocent in the world, Because these odes (God wot) Are so easy to imitate; Diplomats, Members of Parliament, publishers' assistants, Cabmen, poets, peers of the realm, Nay, even the very crowned heads of Europe, Have, at time and time, Been consumed with a desire to do them for me; Because, as I have said, It is so easy. Well, my dear little Prince, Let us draw our moral. The easy thing is not always the wisest thing. I feel that in my inmost heart. And if you blossom into manhood With the same conviction, More or less, I make no doubt whatever That you will be an immense success As a king. I wish you the best of luck.

TO MME. BERNHARDT

My dear Madame Bernhardt,-- I have been very nigh addressing this ode To the winner of the Derby. But, on second thoughts, I said, "No, no--never!" (_Non, non, jamais_, in fact.) "Not while we have in our midst One of whom I wot, For is it meet That the charming Mme. Bernhardt Should return to her interesting country Possessed of the impression that the _bas Anglais_ Have a greater feeling for _le sport_ Than for the _arts dramatiques_, Or whatever you call 'em? _Non, non_, a thousand times, _non!_" Ah, Madame, believe me, I love my country-- _La patrie, la patrie, la patrie_, you know: It is a fine country when you understand it, And I would have my beautiful Bernhardt Take away with her Nothing but splendid memories of it. I was exceedingly glad To read in the papers the other morning That in the opinion of the _critics dramatiques Anglais_, Or whatever you call 'em, Madame had done herself proud At the Lyceum Theatre the other evening. One _critic dramatique Anglais_, Or whatever you call him, Wrote of Madame thus: "Such passages, Wherein the eaglet is borne away On a flight of adoration for the dead eagle, Recur throughout the play: They are, in fact, its keynote, And Mme. Bernhardt Declaimed them with superb intensity. The famous voice has lost its golden notes, But its power to thrill remains, She runs the gamut of the emotions With all the grace and dexterity Of A PROFESSOR." Madame Bernhardt, You will perceive That the _critics dramatiques Anglais_, Or whatever you call 'em, Write of nobody That they do not adorn; My beautiful B., You are a made woman, You have all the grace and dexterity Of A PROFESSOR. O happiness! O crown and fulfilment of a life-time devoted to Ar-rt! Your cup, my quenchless one, Is at length heaped up, Like Benjamin's, And it runs over! Heaven bless us all! And in conclusion, my dear Mme. Bernhardt, Will you do me the honour to allow me to explain That in the event of any young enthusiast from Paris Calling round at any of our newspaper offices With a view to getting satisfaction From the person who accuses you Of having all the skill and dexterity Of A PROFESSOR, He (the young enthusiast from Paris) Will do himself no good, Because in my dear country, dear Madame Bernhardt, We do not fight the duel _a la cut finger_, Like gentlemen; We merely throw downstairs.

TO SIR WILLIAM HARCOURT

My dear Sir William Harcourt,-- (I have not time to get up your other distinguished names, So that you must please excuse the plain Sir William), My dear Sir William, do you ever survey the Liberal party, From China to Peru, And from Rosebery to Lloyd-George as it were? Do you, my dear Sir William? O do you? _I_ do sometimes. I do, Sir William, I do indeed. O, I do! And what is the conclusion I come to, my dear Sir William, Ah, what? O, what? What, what, what, what, what, what, what, what, what? Shall I tell you, my dear Sir William? You are sure you won't be offended if I do? And it will be strictly between ourselves, now, won't it? Well then, come hither, coz, Put your sweet hand in mine and trust in me, And do not construe my kindness into cruelty; Harken, my dear Sir William, harken, Harken, harken, harken, harken har----court:-- The Liberal party is an unweeded garden Choked with a myriad strange growths, And a sad, fierce, baffled, careless-ordered thing to look upon, And in its midst there sits down perennially A huge and ponderous and unwieldy ruminant, Whom, merely for the sake of talking, my dear Sir William, We will call the Harcourt. Here, when it is not at its lordly pleasure-house, Which men call Malwood, The Harcourt, as I say, sits down. Goodman Bannerman cometh to his Liberal Garden To gather him a posy and do a little weeding; The Harcourt is there heavily chewing the cud, And it takes the heart out of goodman Bannerman To behold him. Goodman Asquith had fain pick a bit of dinner in the precincts; The Harcourt watcheth him with rolling eye, And goodman Asquith shivereth. And by and by cometh the simple, rural Rosebery, Armed cap-a-pie with a muck-fork; Being rural he understands gardening; He looks over the wall and sayeth, "Gadzooks, when folk tell me that I am the man to put this garden to rights They speak a mortal deal o' truth. I will e'en go in and delve a bit." And then he beholdeth the Harcourt Luxuriating with his back against the biggest fig tree, And he sayeth "No; That powerful big animal be there still, And I know'un, I do, I know'un!" And who shall blame him? What jobbing gardener of any self-respect Would undertake to do up my genariums and fuchers If I had a wild rhinoceros gambolling upon them Day in and day out? I should have great difficulty In finding such a jobbing gardener, my dear Sir William; And, to come at once to the plain poetry so beloved of this age, Let me tell you, my dear Sir William, That, in my opinion, you (and no other) are at the present juncture The real trouble and incubus of the party you love. If you would only go home and crown yourself with a laurel or two, And read history books, and take tea with bishops And not come back again, I believe the Liberal party Would begin to get along like a house afire. Will you not try it, my dear Sir William; oh, will you not try it? For who would fardels bear and flounder round, When he might sit with Lulu on the lawn And leave his party for his party's good?

TO THE KING'S BULLDOG

Dear Brindle,-- Possibly your name is not Brindle, But that is of no consequence; The great point, my dear Brindle, being That when his Majesty Edward VII. Landed at Flushing the other day He was accompanied By You. At least so I gather from the halfpenny papers, And I am free to admit That when I read the paragraph Descriptive of your landing at Flushing My bosom swelled with honest pride. I am not a doggy man myself, Dear Brindle, And no judge of points. Also, When I see a dog coming towards me I invariably Whisper "Bite," And consequently My hair Is apt to stand on end Like quills upon the fretful porcupine At pretty well every canine approach. Bulldogs especially Affright me, So that I can well understand How the little foreign boy, Assembled at Flushing To scoff in his sleeve at the English King, Remained to flee as it were At the sight of you. That, in a nutshell, Is why my bosom swelled When I read the paragraph To which previous reference has been made. It was a picturesque circumstance, my dear Brindle. And may be taken As one more illustration Of his Majesty's determination (Pray excuse the rhyme) To do things as a king of England should. To have alighted at Flushing Accompanied by a Lion Would have been a little outre, And Unicorns, we know, Are not obtainable-- What does his Majesty do? Why he takes, as he always has taken, The middle and dignified course: He disjects himself on Flushing With You by his side. Next to the Lion and the Unicorn The Bulldog may be reckoned The truest Exemplar and symbol Of our great nation. It is like this: The Bulldog is not too beautiful, Neither is our great nation; But he frightens people-- So do we; He is tenacious And magnanimous-- Which is just our game; He fears no foe in shining armour, Or any other sort of armour-- That is precisely our case; And he is kept by Lord Charles Beresford, The Duke of Manchester, And Mr. G. R. Sims-- Three eminently typical Britons. In short, The genius of the British nation, My dear Brindle, Is not a policeman But a Bulldog.

TO THE _DAILY MAIL_

(_Aug._ 3, 1901)

My dear "Daily Mail,"-- To-day you attain Your 1,650th number, Which, for the sake of talking, We will call your Jubilee. Congratulations, My dear _Daily Mail_, Congratulations! There are people in the world Who, In the time of your infancy, Gave you the usual three months. Most new papers Get three months on the day of their birth. For at the sight of a new sheet, Your wise man invariably taps his nose, Looks even wiser than is his wont, And says, "My dear Sir, I give it Three months." Well, My dear _Daily Mail_, You have survived the sentence of the wise, And I am given to understand That you have long been a tremendous property. Once again Congratulations! BUT (These buts are fearful things, Are they not?)-- But (Pray excuse me if I appear to say "but" again)-- But-- Well, you know what I mean, don't you? Let me put it this way. When I come to town of a morning, Per 'bus or Potromelitan Railway, As the case may be, What do I see? Not to put too fine a point upon it, I see a row of silk or straw hats (According to the state of the weather), And I see a row Of choice trouserings, And between the hats and the trouserings There is spread A row of rustling morning papers. I can tell you the names of those papers With my eyes shut: Five out of six of them is called The _Daily Mail_. This upsets me. It is all right for you, of course, But it distresses me, And I do not like being distressed. Now, why does it distress me? Shall I tell you? Are you sure that you could bear the blow? Can you pull yourself together for a moment? Very well, then, You distress me Because The price of you is one halfpenny. I am of opinion That in the present condition of the general purse, Things which are sold for a halfpenny Are really too cheap. I will give you my reasons some other day. Meanwhile (To take your own case) When I look into your pages, Which is seldom, What do I find? I will be frank for the second time, And tell you: I find, My dear _Daily Mail_, Ha'pennyness Writ in every line of you, From the front page, "Personal Column," With its "Massa, me nebber leab you While you keep So-and-So's toffee about," To the last line Of your astonishing Magazine page, You are Ha'pennyness, Ha'pennyness, Ha'pennyness, Ha'pennyness, Ha'pennyness, Ha'pennyness All the time. Of course there is no harm in that, Especially As you get the ha'pennies, And far be it from me To contemn you for it. On the other hand, As I have remarked previously, I do not like it. I have no advice to offer you, Inasmuch As I do not see how you can help yourself. But I shall ask you kindly to note That the congratulations Expressed at the beginning of this poem Bear reference to your attainment of your 1,650th number And not To another matter, Which, While you certainly have the right upon your side, You appear to me to be conducting IN AN UNMITIGATED HA'PENNY WAY.

TO EVERYBODY

My dear Everybody,-- The other day I lunched at a place Where there was a pretty lady. During the course of the talk The pretty lady said to me, "You see, Everybody is out of town At present." I said, "Who is Everybody?" Whereupon the pretty lady replied, "Well--er--Everybody." I said, "Quite so; But don't you think it is rather Fortunate that Everybody is out of town? And the pretty lady answered and said, "No." I conclude, therefore, That you, Everybody, Must, on the whole, be rather nice. I hope you are; For Everybody should be rather nice, Should they not? And when I come to think of it The circumstance that I heard of you The other day Has nothing prodigiously unusual about it. Really and truly, One is always hearing about you. One is, believe me. For example, the paragraph writers assure me That Everybody is reading Miss So-and-So's great novel; Also, that Everybody will join with them In congratulating Miss So-and-So on her approaching marriage; Also, that Everybody is in the Highlands, That Everybody anticipates a good season, That Everybody keeps a houseboat, That Everybody sups at the Carlton after the theatre, That Everybody recognises in Lord Salisbury a great statesman, That Everybody plays golf, That Everybody who can afford it dresses well, That Everybody knows the King has tact, That Everybody thinks the Queen grows younger as she grows older, That Everybody hopes Sir Thomas Lipton Will win the America Cup, And so on. Which is well. I don't mind in the least. Why should I? Yet, if I were Everybody, I imagine that I should not do things Quite in the same way that you do them. To my mind, your great defect is that you do things Not because you like to do them, But simply because Everybody does them. This is an excellent reason From your point of view; But to me it seems a trifle stupid. Who is reading Miss So-and-So's book? Everybody. Why are they reading it? Because Everybody is reading it. Do they like Miss So-and-So's book? They are not quite sure. But Everybody says it is good, And therefore Everybody must read it. Why are frock-coats worn? Because Everybody wears them. Why does Everybody wear them? Because Everybody wears them. Why does Everybody dine at a certain restaurant? Because Everybody dines there. Why does Everybody dine there? Because Everybody dines there. Why does---- But, there, I forbear. Did time allow I might multiply instances Till Everybody felt bored, But I stay min' hand; Enough, you know, is as good as a feast; Likewise, better a stalled ox Than a dinner of herbs; Everybody says so, Wherefore I am constrained to believe it. By way of conclusion, let us ask ourselves What is happening just now. Everybody says That nothing is happening just now, And that everything is frightfully dull; And Everybody Is Quite Right.

UNWIN BROTHERS, LIMITED, THE GRESHAM PRESS, WOKING AND LONDON.