 | 'Twixt Kiss and Lip or Under the Sword. By the author of "Women Must Weep," [i.e. F. W. O. Ward] Third edition |  |
POLITICS.
If you have a son, believing
Simply what he thinks will pay,
Scoffer, sceptic past retrieving.
But in siokness known to pray—
One who loves the true and solemn
Never, save for social need,
With the money-market column
Frames his temple out of greed—
One whose glory is to question
Pennies on the Gospel spent,
Pounds to give his d---d digestion—
Push him into Parliament.
Simply what he thinks will pay,
Scoffer, sceptic past retrieving.
But in siokness known to pray—
One who loves the true and solemn
Never, save for social need,
With the money-market column
Frames his temple out of greed—
One whose glory is to question
Pennies on the Gospel spent,
Pounds to give his d---d digestion—
Push him into Parliament.
If you have a son, so stupid
That he cannot learn at school,
Blind to his own faults as Cupid,
Just an utter downright fool—
One who scarcely knows his letters,
Always bottom of his class,
Hates and ridicules his betters,
But will follow any ass—
One who never grasped a notion,
Though as plain as man's descent,
Yet would back the wildest metion—
Push him into Parliament.
That he cannot learn at school,
Blind to his own faults as Cupid,
Just an utter downright fool—
One who scarcely knows his letters,
Always bottom of his class,
Hates and ridicules his betters,
But will follow any ass—
One who never grasped a notion,
Though as plain as man's descent,
Yet would back the wildest metion—
Push him into Parliament.
If you have a son, whose knowledge
Lies where vice and vermin creep,
Publicly expelled from college,
Very black among black sheep—
One who shines in dealing shady,
Blown by any doubtful wind,
Would an infant strike or lady,
Leads into the ditch the blind—
One who likes his cards and cheating,
Loaded dice and other tricks,
While you bet upon his beating,
Let him play at Politics.
Lies where vice and vermin creep,
Publicly expelled from college,
Very black among black sheep—
One who shines in dealing shady,
Blown by any doubtful wind,
Would an infant strike or lady,
Leads into the ditch the blind—
One who likes his cards and cheating,
Loaded dice and other tricks,
While you bet upon his beating,
Let him play at Politics.
481
If you have a son, a selfish
Seeker, deaf to other's pain,
Shut from duty as a shell-fish,
Opening unto nought but gain—
One who greedy is, and grovels
Down among the vilest mates,
Nursed on neighbours' wine and novels,
Rinsings out of dirty plates—
One who souses in the meanest
Mess, the boot avenging licks,
Happy only when uncleanest,
Let him roll in Politics.
Seeker, deaf to other's pain,
Shut from duty as a shell-fish,
Opening unto nought but gain—
One who greedy is, and grovels
Down among the vilest mates,
Nursed on neighbours' wine and novels,
Rinsings out of dirty plates—
One who souses in the meanest
Mess, the boot avenging licks,
Happy only when uncleanest,
Let him roll in Politics.
If you have a son, who lying
Always on a settled plan,
Prejudice like truth defying,
Scorns to be an honest man—
One whose falsehoods too are clever,
Troubled not by pangs of gout,
Conscience often called, and never
In his worst excess found out—
One who laughs at honour's holding,
And against decorum bent,
He has got a statesman's moulding—
Push him into Parliament.
Always on a settled plan,
Prejudice like truth defying,
Scorns to be an honest man—
One whose falsehoods too are clever,
Troubled not by pangs of gout,
Conscience often called, and never
In his worst excess found out—
One who laughs at honour's holding,
And against decorum bent,
He has got a statesman's moulding—
Push him into Parliament.
If you have a son, a trial
Daily, with the lips that store
Platitudes, nor take denial,
Grown a nuisance and a bore—
One who but delights to dabble
In the oldest tales and freaks,
Whose unceasing aimless babble
Empties rooms, whene'er he speaks—
One who, with the same dull paces,
Dances to the same intent,
Fossil cant and common-places—
Push him into Parliament.
Daily, with the lips that store
Platitudes, nor take denial,
Grown a nuisance and a bore—
One who but delights to dabble
In the oldest tales and freaks,
Whose unceasing aimless babble
Empties rooms, whene'er he speaks—
One who, with the same dull paces,
Dances to the same intent,
Fossil cant and common-places—
Push him into Parliament.
482
If you have a son, a laggard
Proved in each respected line,
Though a ripe and ready blackguard,
Swilling from the trough of swine—
One who brazen is of feature,
Big and blatant in his voice,
Cruel unto every creature
In his service, and by choice—
One who sins and sins with unction,
And at deed of mercy sticks,
Never felt an hour's compunction—
Let him stew in Politics.
Proved in each respected line,
Though a ripe and ready blackguard,
Swilling from the trough of swine—
One who brazen is of feature,
Big and blatant in his voice,
Cruel unto every creature
In his service, and by choice—
One who sins and sins with unction,
And at deed of mercy sticks,
Never felt an hour's compunction—
Let him stew in Politics.
If you have a son, in revel
Still unsoiled and loving right,
Whom the world and flesh and Devil
Hitherto have failed to blight—
One who helpful is and human,
Whom the wine-cup cannot drown,
Strong against the arts of woman,
That might drag an angel down—
One who finely fills his station,
Building not with others' bricks—
If for him you seek damnation,
Let him plunge in Politics.
Still unsoiled and loving right,
Whom the world and flesh and Devil
Hitherto have failed to blight—
One who helpful is and human,
Whom the wine-cup cannot drown,
Strong against the arts of woman,
That might drag an angel down—
One who finely fills his station,
Building not with others' bricks—
If for him you seek damnation,
Let him plunge in Politics.
If you have a son, devoted
Mainly to the village pub,
Fond of gossip, and denoted
Bad by every decent club—
One who burns the midnight candle,
Rank with nameless orgies' reek,
Trumpet of the last new scandal
Bringing blushes to the cheek—
One who all your care has úndone,
Ruining your fame and rent,
Good for the worst club in London—
Push him into Parliament.
Mainly to the village pub,
Fond of gossip, and denoted
Bad by every decent club—
One who burns the midnight candle,
Rank with nameless orgies' reek,
Trumpet of the last new scandal
Bringing blushes to the cheek—
One who all your care has úndone,
Ruining your fame and rent,
Good for the worst club in London—
Push him into Parliament.
If you have a son, whose idle
Hands are always doing harm,
Kept not in by bit and bridle
Known to the paternal arm—
One who will not toil, or study
Useful things that cost him pains,
Wipes on you and carpets, muddy
Shoes and actions that leave stains—
One who spoils your nags' condition,
Fires with wild cigars your ricks—
He may yet lead Opposition,
Let him work at Politics.
Hands are always doing harm,
Kept not in by bit and bridle
Known to the paternal arm—
One who will not toil, or study
Useful things that cost him pains,
Wipes on you and carpets, muddy
Shoes and actions that leave stains—
One who spoils your nags' condition,
Fires with wild cigars your ricks—
He may yet lead Opposition,
Let him work at Politics.
| 'Twixt Kiss and Lip or Under the Sword. By the author of "Women Must Weep," [i.e. F. W. O. Ward] Third edition | |