 | Pleasant Odes |  |
71
Mr. Rudyard Kipling.
73
I.
O Mr. Kipling,
Mr. Rudyard Kipling,
Dear Mr. Kipling,
Hearken ere I die.
For now the midday bustle
Holds the street:
The 'bus horse jibs
The hansoms jingle past;
The p'liceman,
With his shadow on the stone,
Stands like a shadow
Telling folks the time;
And there are many printers
Out for
Lunch.
74
II.
O Mr. Kipling,Mr. Rudyard Kipling,
Dear Mr. Kipling,
Hearken ere I die.
Framed in a magic casement
I can see
A certain public-house;
Before it now
('Tis so, as I live!)
A Roman matron turns
The handle
Of a patent
Pianette—
Which instrument,
Set on a decent car
And fenced with felt
To keep the weather off,
Looks very nice
And very trim
Indeed.
75
III.
O Mr. Kipling,Mr. Rudyard Kipling,
Dear Mr. Kipling,
Hearken ere I die.
What air is that
The Roman woman flings
Out of her instrument
Into that public-house
Over and over again,
As if she liked it?
Ah, bad man, you know—
You do you know—
You know you know you do—
It is the air Sir Arthur Sullivan made
To fit those lovely verses
About—ssh!
We are observed!
'Twere better not said out.
So let us say
Those verses that you writ
On—well—
I mean
The £90,000 worth.
76
IV.
O Kipling, hear me yet before I die,Hear me, R. K.,
Hear me, for I will speak
And fill five pages if I burst for it.
What have you done?
What have you brought on us?
What yawp is this, of cooks and dukes and belted earls, that several happy months agone
Came wailing up
From reedy
Rottingdean?
And now is chained to all the pianettes,
And all the bands,
And all the musical
Evenings at home?
77
V.
O Kipling, hear me yet before I die,Hear me, R. K.,
And do not laugh at me;
I will arise and go
Unto my house,
And, ere the stars come out,
Talk with my wild young Missus; for she says
She never heard of Kipling,
And is not
Ashamed of the fact.
Whether this be true
I know not,
But I know
That wheresoe'er I am,
By night and day,
I'm pretty tired
Of Kipling.
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