 | The Absent-Minded Mule |  |
7
Chocolate.
‘Ho,’ says the Queen, says she, ‘these 'ere Mister Atkinses,
What's always served me decent an' been heedful of my call,
Now, poor lambs, they've got to stay an spend their merry Chrismasses
Out upon the veldt an' things a-looking after Paul:
Services like these,’ she says, ‘ought to bring a man reward,
A bit of something extery beside his 'ansome pay.’
What's always served me decent an' been heedful of my call,
Now, poor lambs, they've got to stay an spend their merry Chrismasses
Out upon the veldt an' things a-looking after Paul:
Services like these,’ she says, ‘ought to bring a man reward,
A bit of something extery beside his 'ansome pay.’
‘Ho,’ says the Queen, says she,
‘Put it on my little slate,
“Half a pound of chocolate
For Mister Thomas A.”’
‘Put it on my little slate,
“Half a pound of chocolate
For Mister Thomas A.”’
‘Ho,’ says the Queen, says she, when she goes a-shopping like,
“Chrismass gifts is ruinous, and Noo Year's gifts is worse;
Dimins, pearls, and joolery for my great-great-grandchilder
Makes a fairish hole into a none too ample purse:
All the same,’ the Queen she says, ‘Tommy shall not be forgot;
Management, without a doubt, is woman's proper lay.’
“Chrismass gifts is ruinous, and Noo Year's gifts is worse;
Dimins, pearls, and joolery for my great-great-grandchilder
Makes a fairish hole into a none too ample purse:
19
Management, without a doubt, is woman's proper lay.’
‘Ho,’ says the Queen, says she,
‘This'll please his nibs, you bet:
“Half a pound of chocolet
For Mister Thomas A.”’
‘This'll please his nibs, you bet:
“Half a pound of chocolet
For Mister Thomas A.”’
‘Ho,’ says the Queen, says she, ‘dump it into pretty tins,
Put my phiz on each of 'em and breek the bloomin' dies,
Hurry up them Quakers now; let the stuff be quality;
The tin a sorter keepsake for hisself and kids to prize—
Tommy's got a lot to do, thumping Paul for me and you,
A present from the Missis cannot fail to make him gay.’
Put my phiz on each of 'em and breek the bloomin' dies,
Hurry up them Quakers now; let the stuff be quality;
The tin a sorter keepsake for hisself and kids to prize—
Tommy's got a lot to do, thumping Paul for me and you,
A present from the Missis cannot fail to make him gay.’
‘Ho,’ says the Queen, says she,
‘Sixty thousand horse and foot—
“Half a pound of chocolut
For Mister Thomas A.”’
‘Sixty thousand horse and foot—
“Half a pound of chocolut
For Mister Thomas A.”’
20
The Old Man Obstinate.
Behold he sitteth, hugely, on his stoep,
Stolid, stiff-necked, unreasoning, undiscerning,
Puffed out with bigness, swollen with defiance,
Drunken with coffee.
Stolid, stiff-necked, unreasoning, undiscerning,
Puffed out with bigness, swollen with defiance,
Drunken with coffee.
He lifteth up his hand and cries, ‘My people,
Be ye divided into Dutch and “Loafers;”
And for the “Loafers” here are excellent cudgels,
Kicks and “concessions.”
Be ye divided into Dutch and “Loafers;”
And for the “Loafers” here are excellent cudgels,
Kicks and “concessions.”
‘It shall be so, I say, for God is with me;
It shall be so. I move not, and I quail not;
And if you do not like the things I give you—
You can just lump 'em!’
It shall be so. I move not, and I quail not;
And if you do not like the things I give you—
You can just lump 'em!’
O old man obstinate, we are a fatuous,
Discredited, pusillanimous, played-out nation:
And yet, you know, a thousand things may happen
If Someone sneezes.
Discredited, pusillanimous, played-out nation:
And yet, you know, a thousand things may happen
If Someone sneezes.
June, 1899.
24
Wages.
France, at length art thou paid,
More than the sharpest of stripes,
More than shame and reproach,
More than curses and scorn:
More than the sharpest of stripes,
More than shame and reproach,
More than curses and scorn:
This man, back from his hell,
Back from his crag of despairs,
Touching thy affable shore,
Covers his face with his hands.
Back from his crag of despairs,
Touching thy affable shore,
Covers his face with his hands.
July, 1899.
25
Piou-Piou.
‘I rage (like the man in the song)
Find me a Traitor,’ thou saidst,
‘One upon whom I may spit
And let myself filthily loose!’
Find me a Traitor,’ thou saidst,
‘One upon whom I may spit
And let myself filthily loose!’
They did thy bidding: they forged
A merciless gin of deceits,
And trapped thee a Traitor to love—
Soldier, Alsatian, Jew!
A merciless gin of deceits,
And trapped thee a Traitor to love—
Soldier, Alsatian, Jew!
And the years of thy joy of him—
Red years filched out of hell,
Years of unthinkable shame—
Are ended and gone to their place.
Red years filched out of hell,
Years of unthinkable shame—
Are ended and gone to their place.
So that thou criest, ‘Alas,
Now am I cheated and robbed;
My toothsome Traitor goes free!’ . . .
O Tiger, O Jackal, O Ape!
Now am I cheated and robbed;
My toothsome Traitor goes free!’ . . .
O Tiger, O Jackal, O Ape!
August, 1899.
26
Pseudonyms.
‘Why do you weep, my little maid,
These tears all scalding hot?’
‘Oh, sir, I really do believe
“The Man of Kent” 's a Scot!’
These tears all scalding hot?’
‘Oh, sir, I really do believe
“The Man of Kent” 's a Scot!’
‘Why do you weep, why do you weep,
And choke yourself with sobs?’
‘Oh, sir; oh, sir! oh, oh, “O. O.”
Don't stand for “Oliver 'Obbes”’
And choke yourself with sobs?’
‘Oh, sir; oh, sir! oh, oh, “O. O.”
Don't stand for “Oliver 'Obbes”’
29
Rhyme: for the Nursery.
I love Mister Tumtum—
His books are so warm;
And if they don't hurt me
They'll do me no harm.
His books are so warm;
And if they don't hurt me
They'll do me no harm.
For dear Mister Tumtum
In wordie and thoughtie
Is prettily piggish
And daintily naughty.
In wordie and thoughtie
Is prettily piggish
And daintily naughty.
30
To a Great Poet.
I hear of thee at stylish clubs,
Or banqueting with witty peers,
And note I'm named once more by Stubbs,
That worthiest of gazetteers.
Or banqueting with witty peers,
And note I'm named once more by Stubbs,
That worthiest of gazetteers.
Thy published works at three-and-six
Go off, they tell me, by the heap;
On mine the careful huckster sticks
A hesitating ‘4d. cheap.’
Go off, they tell me, by the heap;
On mine the careful huckster sticks
A hesitating ‘4d. cheap.’
And having drachmas thou may'st roam
To nurse, on joys, a noble rage,
While I sit squalidly at home
And sweat for half-a-crown a page.
To nurse, on joys, a noble rage,
While I sit squalidly at home
And sweat for half-a-crown a page.
What wonder that our rhymes don't run
Quite in the same imperial sort—
Thou, fixed up in the affluent sun,
I, shivering in the County Court?
Quite in the same imperial sort—
Thou, fixed up in the affluent sun,
I, shivering in the County Court?
| The Absent-Minded Mule | |