 | 'Twixt Kiss and Lip or Under the Sword. By the author of "Women Must Weep," [i.e. F. W. O. Ward] Third edition |  |
HOW THEY GOVERN US.
Two cronies were they and yet one,
That sat upon the stile,
As they for ages now had done—
It seemed a little while;
They sat upon the stile, because
It could not sit on them,
And talked of lollipops and laws,
And each new theorem;
Why little babes have little teeth,
Within their gums to bite,
And what's Society, beneath
Its sugar plums and spite.
That sat upon the stile,
As they for ages now had done—
It seemed a little while;
They sat upon the stile, because
It could not sit on them,
And talked of lollipops and laws,
And each new theorem;
Why little babes have little teeth,
Within their gums to bite,
And what's Society, beneath
Its sugar plums and spite.
They sat upon that ancient stile,
Awaking and in sleep,
It pleased the Popinjay to smile,
The Nincompoop to weep;
The Popinjay he smiled so long,
As often as he durst;
That soup and sentiments went wrong,
And every button burst;
He smiled, as one who fondly thinks
He backs the winning steed,
And all the tiny Tiddlywinks
Came running out to feed.
Awaking and in sleep,
It pleased the Popinjay to smile,
The Nincompoop to weep;
The Popinjay he smiled so long,
As often as he durst;
That soup and sentiments went wrong,
And every button burst;
He smiled, as one who fondly thinks
He backs the winning steed,
And all the tiny Tiddlywinks
Came running out to feed.
That painted Popinjay was wise,
And scattered crumbs of wit,
Blue-books and precedents and pies,
That sometimes someone hit;
Benevolent and bland, he joked
At very good mammas,
Drank deep his neighbour's wine and smoked
Only his best cigars;
He saw the saint and sinner both
Were brothers off the stage,
How party ends determined troth,
And smiled upon the Age.
And scattered crumbs of wit,
Blue-books and precedents and pies,
That sometimes someone hit;
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At very good mammas,
Drank deep his neighbour's wine and smoked
Only his best cigars;
He saw the saint and sinner both
Were brothers off the stage,
How party ends determined troth,
And smiled upon the Age.
They talked of every rising pup,
In their peculiar way,
Why Irish noses will turn up,
And Irish patriots bray;
They wondered if the moon were cheese,
And maiden's eyes were stars,
Or why poor Poland made us sneeze,
And Cabinets had jars;
How Gladstone was, like famous bards,
In twenty places born,
Or gave but telegrams and cards,
And kicked at facts in scorn.
In their peculiar way,
Why Irish noses will turn up,
And Irish patriots bray;
They wondered if the moon were cheese,
And maiden's eyes were stars,
Or why poor Poland made us sneeze,
And Cabinets had jars;
How Gladstone was, like famous bards,
In twenty places born,
Or gave but telegrams and cards,
And kicked at facts in scorn.
It did appear a curious fate,
None counted more than ten,
All dinner put before the State,
And measures after men;
While rulers, who a country led,
Though playing fast and loose,
Would take a Continent to bed,
And followed some sweet goose;
None cared for principles, but power
Or just the filthy pay,
To buzz and sting one little hour,
Or stack a little hay.
None counted more than ten,
All dinner put before the State,
And measures after men;
While rulers, who a country led,
Though playing fast and loose,
Would take a Continent to bed,
And followed some sweet goose;
None cared for principles, but power
Or just the filthy pay,
To buzz and sting one little hour,
Or stack a little hay.
They marvelled, sages ran about
From fancy shops to farms,
And left their citadels without
The money and the arms;
And when the house was burning quite,
They quarreled about names,
And parties could not then unite
To quench the killing flames;
And how the leaders talked, and slid
Off with the dinner bell,
Then talked again and nothing did,
But did that very well.
From fancy shops to farms,
And left their citadels without
The money and the arms;
And when the house was burning quite,
They quarreled about names,
And parties could not then unite
To quench the killing flames;
And how the leaders talked, and slid
Off with the dinner bell,
Then talked again and nothing did,
But did that very well.
Good Mrs. Grundy sometimes came,
To have a cup of tea
And tattle, or a quiet game
Of fiddle-diddle-dee;
She knew the proper thing to do,
In any time of stress,
And had such proper feelings too,
Behind her black silk dress;
The Popinjay, that best of men,
By her was sweetly wiled,
And, if she cheated now and then,
Yet only more he smiled.
To have a cup of tea
And tattle, or a quiet game
Of fiddle-diddle-dee;
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In any time of stress,
And had such proper feelings too,
Behind her black silk dress;
The Popinjay, that best of men,
By her was sweetly wiled,
And, if she cheated now and then,
Yet only more he smiled.
They often made their neighbours' beds,
With thorns and ginger beer,
Or danced a hornpipe on their heads,
When nobody was near;
They played at war and stately tricks
Esteemed in camps and courts,
Puss-in-the-corner, politics,
And other little sports;
For Mrs. Grundy loved high jinks,
If they were but discreet,
And all the tiny Tiddlywinks,
Sat gaping at her feet.
With thorns and ginger beer,
Or danced a hornpipe on their heads,
When nobody was near;
They played at war and stately tricks
Esteemed in camps and courts,
Puss-in-the-corner, politics,
And other little sports;
For Mrs. Grundy loved high jinks,
If they were but discreet,
And all the tiny Tiddlywinks,
Sat gaping at her feet.
And still the Nincompoop would weep,
Whatever they might do,
He wept to farmers about sheep,
he wept to lace his shoe;
He wept because the crops were good,
He wept if they were bad,
He wept that no one understood
Who wrote the Iliad;
He wept because great England's Bank
A beggar's balance kept,
If judges cups of sherry drank—
As coffee-still he wept.
Whatever they might do,
He wept to farmers about sheep,
he wept to lace his shoe;
He wept because the crops were good,
He wept if they were bad,
He wept that no one understood
Who wrote the Iliad;
He wept because great England's Bank
A beggar's balance kept,
If judges cups of sherry drank—
As coffee-still he wept.
But yet upon the stile they sat,
That shut their treasures in,
The Popinjay was nice and fat,
The Nincompoop was thin;
His tears went flowing fast, he knew
His precious life was brief,
He saw but men and manners, through
His pocket handkerchief;
Although he had a patriot taste,
And throve on women's fears,
And pretty orphans loved to baste,
Behind his veil of tears.
That shut their treasures in,
The Popinjay was nice and fat,
The Nincompoop was thin;
His tears went flowing fast, he knew
His precious life was brief,
He saw but men and manners, through
His pocket handkerchief;
Although he had a patriot taste,
And throve on women's fears,
And pretty orphans loved to baste,
Behind his veil of tears.
The Popinjay he worked the State,
By subtle words and wire,
And fed it from a dirty plate
With maxims of the mire;
He made the silly puppets dance,
To every air he chose,
And called it only dear romance,
When treading on their toes;
He beamed on all with gracious blinks,
He beamed for many a mile,
And all the tiny Tiddlywinks
Kept basking in his smile,
By subtle words and wire,
And fed it from a dirty plate
With maxims of the mire;
478
To every air he chose,
And called it only dear romance,
When treading on their toes;
He beamed on all with gracious blinks,
He beamed for many a mile,
And all the tiny Tiddlywinks
Kept basking in his smile,
The Nincompoop, he plied the Church
With platitudes and pills,
And left the people in the lurch
To nothing but the bills;
But then he wept at their distress,
And wrung his reverend hands,
And tore his hair which still grew less,
While forging firmer bands;
He wept, and bade them only wipe
The outside of the dish,
And collared (with a casual pipe)
The fairest of the fish.
With platitudes and pills,
And left the people in the lurch
To nothing but the bills;
But then he wept at their distress,
And wrung his reverend hands,
And tore his hair which still grew less,
While forging firmer bands;
He wept, and bade them only wipe
The outside of the dish,
And collared (with a casual pipe)
The fairest of the fish.
A rather festive time they spent,
Betwixt them and the pot,
In playing games of Government
And loo and idiot;
Champagne and oysters every day,
And likewise every night,
That wretched patriots had to pay,
Toiling with all their might;
Admiring crowds, an easy seat
In which they sweetly slept,
And practised how to drink and eat,
Or simply smiled and wept.
Betwixt them and the pot,
In playing games of Government
And loo and idiot;
Champagne and oysters every day,
And likewise every night,
That wretched patriots had to pay,
Toiling with all their might;
Admiring crowds, an easy seat
In which they sweetly slept,
And practised how to drink and eat,
Or simply smiled and wept.
They talked of scandals, how Lord This
Made love to Lady That,
Who sold a kingdom for a kiss,
A rosebud and a cat;
How noodle Jack was made a peer,
And Tom enriched his shelf
By brewing fools the famous beer,
He never touched himself;
But if a creature passed, that, lo,
Had some productive frame,
They thought it sinful it should go
As heavy as it came.
Made love to Lady That,
Who sold a kingdom for a kiss,
A rosebud and a cat;
How noodle Jack was made a peer,
And Tom enriched his shelf
By brewing fools the famous beer,
He never touched himself;
But if a creature passed, that, lo,
Had some productive frame,
They thought it sinful it should go
As heavy as it came.
It seemed a shabby trick, the twain
Should milk their neighbour's goat,
But Mrs. Grundy hid their gain
Behind her petticoat;
You see, she always made it right,
By her decorous dress,
That covered every sort of plight,
From killing to caress;
And then the Popinjay was fat,
He hoped for better days,
Passed round his comprehensive hat,
And solid went for stays.
Should milk their neighbour's goat,
But Mrs. Grundy hid their gain
Behind her petticoat;
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By her decorous dress,
That covered every sort of plight,
From killing to caress;
And then the Popinjay was fat,
He hoped for better days,
Passed round his comprehensive hat,
And solid went for stays.
It idle were, to tell the plans
By which they conquering went,
With mops and sops and kitchen pans,
That pair benevolent;
Though daring people said, the stile
Ere long would topple down,
For all the Popinjay might smile,
And crack some person's “crown”;
They fenced their power with further links,
And deeper struck its roots,
And all the tiny Tiddlywinks
Made blacking for their boots.
By which they conquering went,
With mops and sops and kitchen pans,
That pair benevolent;
Though daring people said, the stile
Ere long would topple down,
For all the Popinjay might smile,
And crack some person's “crown”;
They fenced their power with further links,
And deeper struck its roots,
And all the tiny Tiddlywinks
Made blacking for their boots.
They always left a sort of loop,
By which they might recede,
The Popinjay and Nincompoop,
For they were wise indeed;
They had a useful box of salve,
To soothe the bitter brunt,
If ever through that safety-valve,
They made their exeunt;
'Twas wrought of butter and of jam,
Of legal writs that squash
Unpleasant things, mint-sauce and lamb—
And not unknown as Bosh!
By which they might recede,
The Popinjay and Nincompoop,
For they were wise indeed;
They had a useful box of salve,
To soothe the bitter brunt,
If ever through that safety-valve,
They made their exeunt;
'Twas wrought of butter and of jam,
Of legal writs that squash
Unpleasant things, mint-sauce and lamb—
And not unknown as Bosh!
They held a big Umbrella too,
Though badly soiled and seamed,
And a tall cock-a-doodle-doo,
That on his dunghill screamed;
Beneath that patched and palsied roof
Of soap and artful lies,
Flocked creatures that lived else aloof,
And called it compromise;
Their genius, which was highly paid,
Turned little what was great,
And fiddled over it—some said,
That dunghill was the State.
Though badly soiled and seamed,
And a tall cock-a-doodle-doo,
That on his dunghill screamed;
Beneath that patched and palsied roof
Of soap and artful lies,
Flocked creatures that lived else aloof,
And called it compromise;
Their genius, which was highly paid,
Turned little what was great,
And fiddled over it—some said,
That dunghill was the State.
Their purpose was, to humour folks
With promises and buns,
With pretty toys and prurient jokes,
Or something new in guns;
To pledge whatever they might ask,
Who liked a thumping tale,
And running keep a goodly cask
Of soporific ale;
And so they choked Lord Randolph's lynx,
And members armed with maps,
While all the tiny Tiddlywinks
Fed humbly on their scraps.
With promises and buns,
With pretty toys and prurient jokes,
Or something new in guns;
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Who liked a thumping tale,
And running keep a goodly cask
Of soporific ale;
And so they choked Lord Randolph's lynx,
And members armed with maps,
While all the tiny Tiddlywinks
Fed humbly on their scraps.
| 'Twixt Kiss and Lip or Under the Sword. By the author of "Women Must Weep," [i.e. F. W. O. Ward] Third edition | |