Young WILHELM was a wilful lad,

And lots of "cheek" young WILHELM had.

He deemed the world should hail with joy

A smart and self-sufficient boy,

And do as it by him was told;

He was so wise, he was so bold.

If anyone dared stop his play,

He screamed out—"Take the wretch away!

Oh, take my enemy away!

I won't have any foes to-day!"

His old adviser WILHELM swore

Was a pig-headed senile bore.

He meant to try another tack,

So his Old Pilot got the sack.

Nay more, one day, in a fierce squall,

He smashed his picture on the wall;

Tore up the papers when they said

He was a little "off his head."

He yelled, in his despotic way,

"Not any Press for me," I say!

"Oh, take that nasty Punch away

I won't have any Punch to-day!"

He deemed himself, and this was odd,

A sort of new Olympian god;

And when the wise, who watched his whim,

Sighed, "Have the gods demented him?

Quem deus vult, et cetera" he

Was just as mad as mad could be;

And, just like other angry boys,

Kicked over tables, smashed his toys,

And cried out, "Take the things away!

I'll have nought but new toys to-day!"

"Prudence?" he yelled; "what do I care?"

And here he kicked the old pet Bear

His sire and grandsire had so cherished,

Till the old policy had perished

With Wilful WILHELM, who preferred

The Eagles. With a pole he stirred

Big Bruin up. "Oh, I'll surprise him!

And, if he growls, I'll 'pulverise' him."

Some thought that picking rows with Bruin

Meant folly, if it did not ruin;

But when they whispered words of warning,

Then Wilful WILHELM, counsel scorning,

Shrieked, "Take the nasty brute away!

I won't have any Bears to-day!"

Now, WILHELM, do not be absurd,

But listen to a friendly word!

You are a clever boy, no doubt,

And very smart, and very stout,

Like young AUGUSTUS, dainty eater,

Whose story is in Struwwelpeter.

Did'st ever read those truthful stories,

Good Dr. HEINRICH HOFFMANN's glories,

Which round the world have travelled gaily,

By Nursery pets consulted daily?

If not, just get "Shock-headed PETER";

Read of AUGUSTUS, the soup-eater,

And stuck-up "JOHNNY Head-in-Air,"

Who came down "bump" all unaware.

And "Fidgety PHILIP." You'll confess them

Pointed,—and don't try to suppress them,

Like Princes, party-men and papers

Which can't admire all your mad capers!

My Wilful WILHELM, you'll not win

By dint of mere despotic din;

By kicking everybody over

In whom a critic you discover,

Or shouting in your furious way,

"Oh, take the nasty Punch away!

I won't have any Punch to-day!"

Shame to the callous French, who goad

The horse that pulls a heavy load!

Shame to the Spanish bull-fight! Shame

To those who make of death a game!

We English are a better race:

We love the long and solemn face;

We fly from any cheerful place,—

On Sunday.

But, other days, we like a show.

There may be danger, as we know;

We put the thought of that aside,

For noble sport is England's pride:

We'd advertise a railway trip,

To see a wretched tamer slip

And die beneath the lion's grip,—

On Monday!