 | English Roses |  |
234
IS IT PEACE?
I asked a Frenchman, “Is it war or peace?”
“It's peace of course,” he cried with laughing eyes,
“Though still our flag has that confounded crease.”
And then he built a dozen iron ships.
“It's peace of course,” he cried with laughing eyes,
“Though still our flag has that confounded crease.”
And then he built a dozen iron ships.
I asked a German, “Is it war or peace?”
“It's peace of course,” he wrote with ready pen,
“If only France and her ally would cease.”
And he enrolled a few more thousand men.
“It's peace of course,” he wrote with ready pen,
“If only France and her ally would cease.”
And he enrolled a few more thousand men.
I asked the Russian, “Is it war or peace?”
“It's peace of course,” he frowned, “you cackling goose,
I give it to the world in endless lease.”
And then he let his bloody Cossacks loose.
“It's peace of course,” he frowned, “you cackling goose,
I give it to the world in endless lease.”
And then he let his bloody Cossacks loose.
I asked the Briton, “Is it war or peace?”
“It's peace, of course, the only cure for ills,
Though I keep Egypt stewing in her grease.
But Labouchere will have no butcher's bills.”
“It's peace, of course, the only cure for ills,
Though I keep Egypt stewing in her grease.
But Labouchere will have no butcher's bills.”
If this be Peace, then war at any price—
I tell my sweet pacific Quaker nieces—
Beats armèd Peace and empty sacrifice;
And Europe soon will be reduced to pieces.
I tell my sweet pacific Quaker nieces—
Beats armèd Peace and empty sacrifice;
And Europe soon will be reduced to pieces.
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