Chapter 3
Who breathed a word of war? Why, surely we are men and Plymouth brothers! Pray, what in thunder should we cut each other's Carotids for?
Merciful powers forefend! For we by gold-edged bonds are bound alway, Besides a lot of things that never pay A dividend!
Christmas! we cry thee _Ave_! At such a time, when hearts with love are filled, It seems inopportune for us to build The needful navy.
In fact in many a church Uprise the prayer and supplicating psalm That Heaven would keep our spreading Eagle calm Upon his perch.
Goodwill and peace and plenty! Our leading congregations here agree To vote for this arrangement, _nemine Contradicente_.
Greatly be they extolléd Who occupied the tabernacle-chair And put it to the meeting then and there And passed it solid!
That print has also played A useful part that sent an invitation To Redmond to relieve the situation (Answer prepaid).
Say, Sirs, and shall we sever? And mar the fair exchange of fatted steers, Chicago pig, and eligible peers? No! never, never!
Shall gore be made to flow? Like kindred Sohrabs shall we knock our Rustums, And blast our beautiful McKinley customs? Lord love us! no!
Then, burst the sundering bar! Our punctured pockets yearn across the ocean; Till now we never had the faintest notion How dear you are!
O love of other years! Wall Street, aweary for her broken bliss, Waits like a loving crocodile to kiss Again with tears!
XI. TO THE LORD OF POTSDAM.
[On sending a certain telegram.]
Majestic Monarch! whom the other gods, For fear of their immediate removal, Consulting hourly, seek your awful nod's Approval;
Lift but your little finger up to strike, And lo! 'the massy earth is riven' (Shelley), The habitable globe is shaken like A jelly.
By your express permission for the last Eight years the sun has regularly risen; And editors, that questioned this, have passed To prison.
In Art you simply have to say, "I shall!" Beethoven's fame is rendered transitory; And Titian cloys beside your clever all- -egory.
We hailed you Admiral: your eagle sight Foresaw Her Majesty's benign intentions; A uniform was ready of the right Dimensions.
Your wardrobe shines with all the shapes and shades, That genius can fix in fancy suitings; For _levées_, false alarums, full parades And shootings.
But save the habit marks the man of gore Your spurs are yet to win, my callow Kaiser! Of fighting in the field you know no more Than I, Sir!
When Grandpapa was thanking God with hymns For gallant Frenchmen dying in the ditches, Your nurse had barely braced your little limbs In breeches.
And doubtless, where he roosts beside his bock, The Game Old Bird that played the leading fiddle Smiles grimly as he hears your perky cock- -a-diddle.
Be well advised, my youthful friend, abjure These tricks that smack of Cleon and the tanners; And let the Dutch instruct a German Boor In manners.
Nor were you meant to solve the nations' knots, Or be the Earth's Protector, willy-nilly; You only make yourself and royal Pots- -dam silly.
Our racing yachts are not at present dressed In bravery of bunting to amuse you, Nor can the licence of an honoured guest Excuse you.
But if your words are more than wanton play And you would like to meet the old sea-rover, Name any course from Delagoa Bay To Dover.
Meanwhile observe a proper reticence; We ask no more; there never was a rumour Of asking Hohenzollerns for a sense Of humour!
XII. FROM THE LORD OF POTSDAM.
We, William, Kaiser, planted on Our throne By heaven's grace, but chiefly by Our own, Do deign to speak. Then let the earth be dumb, And other nations cease their senseless hum! Seldom, if ever, does a chance arise For Us to pose before Our people's eyes; But this is one of them, this natal day Whereon Our Ancient and Imperial sway, Which to the battle's death-defying trump Welded the States in one confounded lump, (As many tasty meats are blent within The German sausage's encircling skin) By Our decree is twenty-five precisely, And, under Us (and God) still doing nicely. Therefore ye Princelings, Plenipotentates, And Representatives of various States, A cool Imperial pint your Kaiser drains, Both to Our 'more immediate' domains, And to Our lands, Our isles beyond the sea, Our World-embracing Greater Germany! Let loose the breathings of Our Royal Band, We give a rouse--_hoch! hoch!_--to HELGOLAND!
[_Kaiserliche Kapelle_ plays: _O Helgoland! mein Helgoland!_ Air--_Die Wacht am Rhein_.]
WILLIAM, KAISER, continues:--
There are that languish on this festal day Damned and impounded for _lèse-majesté_; We, William, in Our plentitude of grace, Propose to pardon every hundredth case; And though their sentence was no more than just We offer each a copy of Our bust, With option of a fine; but, be it known, Whoso again shall deem his life his own, Or find in Ours the faintest flaw or fleck, God helping, We will hang him by the neck. Yea, he shall surely curse his impious star That dares to question Who or where We are! Worship your Cæsar, and (C.V.) your God; Who spares the child may haply spoil the rod. Many Our uniforms, but We are one, And one Our empire over which the sun, Careering on his cloud-compulsive way, Sets once, but never more than once, a day. The seas are Ours: world-wide upon the oceans Our fleet commands the liveliest emotions; Go where you will, you find Our German manners Prevailing under other people's banners; Go where you will, you cannot but remark The cheap, but never nasty, German clerk; Observe Our exports; do you ever see Things made as they are made in Germany? Always at home on Earth's remotest shores _E.g._, among Our loved, low-German Boers, Freely Our folk expectorate, and there Our German bands inflame the balmy air; Likewise again Our passionate bassoons Tickle the niggers of the Cameroons; Or others over whom Our Eagle flaps In places not at present on the maps. One more Imperial pint! your Kaiser drinks To German intercourse with missing links! Let loose the breathings of Our Royal Band, We give--_hoch! hoch!_--Our glorious HINTERLAND!
[_Kaiserliche Kapelle_ plays: _O Hinterland! mein Hinterland!_ (Air as before); during which WILLIAM, KAISER, resumes his throne.]
XIII. 'THE SPACIOUS TIMES.'
[On Drake's return from his filibustering expedition of 1580 the Queen went on board his ship at Deptford, and after partaking of a banquet conferred on him the honour of knighthood, at the same time declaring herself mightily pleased with all that he had done.]
I wish that I had flourished then, When ruffs and raids were in the fashion, When Shakespeare's art and Raleigh's pen Encouraged patriotic passion; For though I draw my happy breath Beneath a Queen as good and gracious, The times of Great Elizabeth Were more conveniently spacious.
Large-hearted age of cakes and ale! When, undeterred by nice conditions, Good Master Drake would lightly sail On little privateer commissions; Careering round with sword and flame And no pretence of polished manners, He planted out in England's name A most refreshing lot of banners.
Blest era, when the reckless tar, Elated by a sense of duty, Feared not to face his country's Bar But freely helped himself to booty; Returning home with bulging hold The Queen would meet him, much excited, Pronounce him worth his weight in gold And promptly have the hero knighted.
No Extra Special, piping hot, Broke out in unexpected Pyrrhics; No Poet Laureate on the spot Composed apologetic lyrics; Transpiring slowly by-and-by, The act was voted one of loyalty; The nation winked the other eye, And pocketed the usual royalty.
Ere Reuter yet had found his range, These trifles done across the ocean Produced upon the Stock Exchange No preternatural emotion; Not yet the Kaiserlich I AM Made wingéd words and then repented; He wrote as yet no telegram, Nor was, in fact, himself invented.
No Justice Hawkins gauged the fault Of irresponsible incursions; The early Hawkins, gallant salt, Knew well the charm of such diversions; Men never saw that moving sight When legal luminaries muster, And very solemnly indict A well-conducted filibuster.
No Member had the hardy nerve To criticise our depredations As unadapted to preserve The perfect comity of nations; No High Commissioner would doubt If brigandage was quite judicial; Indeed we mostly did without This rather eminent Official.
No Ministry would care a rap For theoretic arbitration; They simply modified the map To meet the latest annexation; And so without appeal to law, Or other needless waste of tissue, The Lion, where he put his paw, Remained and propagated issue.
To-day we wax exceeding fat On lands our roving fathers raided; And blush with holy horror at Their lawless sons who do as they did; No doubt the age improves a lot, It grows more honest, more veracious; But, as I said, the times are not Quite so conveniently spacious.
NOTE
To the Editors of _The World_ and _The National Observer_, and to the Proprietors of _Punch_, I wish to express my thanks for their courtesy in permitting me to republish these verses.
O. S.
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The Battle of the Bays.
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* * * * *
_BY THE SAME AUTHOR._
Horace at Cambridge
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Tillers of the Sand
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In Cap and Bells
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Transcriber Notes
Typographical inconsistencies have been changed and are listed below.
Hyphenation standardized and is also listed below.
Archaic and variable spelling is preserved.
Author's punctuation style is preserved, including some hyphenated words that are integral to a poem.
Passages in italics indicated by _underscores_.
Passages in bold indicated by =equal signs=.
Transcriber Changes
The following changes were made to the original text:
Page 22: Was 'bellettrist' ('Heed not =belletrist= jargon.')
Page 45: Was 'lachrimal' (Year that has painfully tickled the =lachrymal= nerves of the Muses)
Page 84: Added semi-colon after 'Pyrrhics' (Broke out in unexpected =Pyrrhics;=)
Page 88: Was 'applys' and 'precison' (Mr. Seaman cracks the whip with consummate skill, and =applies= it with such naughty =precision=, that even his victims must find it difficult to withhold their admiration.)
Page 89: Changed to single quotes (in modern times there has been nothing so good of its sort as ='Tillers of the Sand.'=)
Advertisements: Changed to single quotes (the dancing light of humour, make up the motley which is the true jester's ='only wear'=; and under his flashes of merriment is a sober, sound philosophy.)
Advertisements: Was 'Arthuh' (His technical quality seems to strengthen with every new volume."--Mr. =ARTHUR= WAUGH in _The St. James' Gazette_.)