 |
|
|
| I. |
| II. |
|
|
|
| I. |
| II. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
 | 'Twixt Kiss and Lip or Under the Sword. By the author of "Women Must Weep," [i.e. F. W. O. Ward] Third edition |  |
This is a pleasant place, and fit for me:
How beautiful and blest it is to be,
Or rather not to be—it's all the same—
When you have neatly rounded off your Fame,
And got the headstone ready, and the Book
(Like magic views) through which the world shall look,
And read the picture done by your own hand,
With every shadow toned to the demand
Of eager dupes! And yet it's nice to live,
To show at least you never do forgive—
To teach the children in the Sunday schools,
And thunder lessons to religious fools
Who come to Church and never had a doubt,
And then to go away and feel devout
For half an hour! It's really quite divine,
So long as they don't ask me to resign,
Or even share my empire with some ass
Who sees the world through one small looking-glass,
And not through many. I will live and die
For my dear country, sunder every tie,
But this of Office; here the line I draw;
My service still shall be without the flaw
Of such a weakness. England's general voice
Chose me as chief, and I accept the choice,
But now what shall I do? The season calls,
And echoes answer from the holy walls.
My epitaph I'll write, and be no debtor
To ignorant men: and who could do it better?
How beautiful and blest it is to be,
Or rather not to be—it's all the same—
When you have neatly rounded off your Fame,
And got the headstone ready, and the Book
(Like magic views) through which the world shall look,
And read the picture done by your own hand,
With every shadow toned to the demand
Of eager dupes! And yet it's nice to live,
To show at least you never do forgive—
To teach the children in the Sunday schools,
And thunder lessons to religious fools
Who come to Church and never had a doubt,
And then to go away and feel devout
For half an hour! It's really quite divine,
So long as they don't ask me to resign,
Or even share my empire with some ass
Who sees the world through one small looking-glass,
And not through many. I will live and die
For my dear country, sunder every tie,
But this of Office; here the line I draw;
My service still shall be without the flaw
Of such a weakness. England's general voice
Chose me as chief, and I accept the choice,
But now what shall I do? The season calls,
And echoes answer from the holy walls.
My epitaph I'll write, and be no debtor
To ignorant men: and who could do it better?
| 'Twixt Kiss and Lip or Under the Sword. By the author of "Women Must Weep," [i.e. F. W. O. Ward] Third edition | |