if
Them blooming furrin goods comes in,
In spite of our protective tariff!
'Ha! but we'll keep 'em out,' sez you.
Then where's our promised revenoo?
If that's the price as must be paid
To forward Joe's Imperial mission;
If we must bolster up our trade,
An' not allow no competition,
By taxing them as 'as to buy,
'Gawd 'elp our British trade!' sez I.
'CONTROVERSIAL METHODS'
It doesn't matter if I goes
Inside our local Workman's Club
To 'ave a game o' dominoes,
Or drops into the nearest pub;
In 'arf a moment in 'll walk
Some bloke as starts a fiscal talk.
An' if I ever tries, per'aps,
To criticise this scheme o' Joe's,
There's always some excited chaps
As leads from arguments to blows.
An' then we throws the things about,
Till someone calls the chucker-out.
They states that England's gone to pot,
That ev'ry trade is lost to 'er;
An' if I dares to say it's not,
They calls me 'Little Englander'!
(On one I 'ad to use my fist:
'E said I was a 'hoptimist.')
Nor yet it ain't no furrin foes
As thus belittles Britain's fame;
It's partisans o' good old Joe's
As brings discredit on 'er name,
By shouting out to ev'ryone
That little England's day is done.
One night Jim Adams sez to me,
'Ole England's rotten to the core!'
An' when 'e finds I don't agree,
'E ups an' calls me a pro-Boer!
(I 'ad a word or two with 'im;
'E's still in 'orspital, is Jim!)
If them so-called Imperialists
Is blokes as runs their country down,
Upon 'er ruined state insists,
An' tries to blacken 'er renown,
Then I for one 'ud much prefer
To be a 'Little Englander.'
If wot their politicians styles
The 'patriotic' point of view
Is saying that these British Isles
'As lost their trade an' credit too,
I ain't a patriot no more:
I'm just a hoptimist pro-Boer!
I'm not the sort o' chap as blames
Them folks as don't agree wi' me,
But when they calls me silly names
Because my fiscal views is Free,
It don't require no further flaws
To see the weakness o' their cause. |
A MESSAGE FROM BROADMOOR
Altho' my brain is sound and well,
An' mentally I've nothing wrong,
They've locked me in a padded cell,
An' watches me the 'ole day long;
'Ow did I get in such a fix?
'Twas all along o' politics.
I'd studied Joe's Protection plan,
An' thought I'd see what I could do
To benefit my fellow-man
By practisin' 'is 'opeful view
That Exports is the all in all,
And Himports should be nil—or small.
So, when I stayed with Uncle Bill
(My visit ain't improved 'is manners),
I managed, when I left, to fill
My pockets with 'is best 'Avannahs;
The cigarettes I left be'ind
Was quite the cheapest I could find.
Yet Uncle Bill 'e couldn't see
That since 'is Exports far exceeded
'Is Himports—thanks, o' course, to me—
That was exactly what he needed
To make 'im prosperous again;
'E merely said I was insane!
'E couldn't understand, wot's more,
('E was a Cobdenite, an' still is),
Why, when I traded at the door
'Is hovercoat for Weary Willie's,
'E, not the tramp, 'ad been the gainer;
And yet—could anythink be plainer?
One day a foreign merchant fleet
Was anchored orf a British pier;
The cargo, mostly Russian wheat,
Designed for himportation 'ere;
True to my principles, that night
I blew it up with dynamite.
* * * * *
The jury was a set o' twelve
Old fossils o' the Asquith school;
The judge was one they ought to shelve;
My counsel was a bloomin' fool;
'E talked o' my 'disordered brain,'
An' never mentioned Chamberlain!
So now they've sent me to a spot
Congenial to my fiscal notions,
Which, as I needn't say, is not
The same as Devonsheer's or Goschen's.
But I'm not mad, I must insist:
I'm merely a Protectionist! |
THE TURNING TIDE
Jim 'Icks was a Tory, ten years back;
An' 'e cheered at each Tory win.
An' 'e'd stand an' argue as white was black,
For to 'elp them Tories in.
But times (an' parties) is changed since then,
An' 'e's wishful to 'elp 'em out agen.
'Rat!' sez you? Maybe that's true.
Nor 'e ain't the only one
As 'eard wot them Tories said they'd do,
An' as seed wot them Tories done;
An' 'e don't feel noways bound, don't Jim,
To blokes as 'as broke their word with 'im.
'E nursed 'is party a many a year,
An' 'e swollered their party tricks.
Just draw up a cheer to the fire, an' 'ear
Wot they promised the likes of 'Icks.
An' I'll tell you arterwards, if I can,
Wot the Tories done for the workin'-man.
* * * * *
Chamberlain, 'e was the fust to speak,—
An', o' course, 'e spoke cocksure,—
Of a pension of 'arf a crown a week
For the old, 'ard-workin' poor.
(An' many a cap was raised to Joe,
When 'e made that promise, ten year ago.)
Balfour nex' to the 'ustings comes,
With a scheme for to 'elp improve
Them dwellin'-'ouses in crowded slums,
Where there warn't no room to move.
(An' many a 'ope was kep' alive
By the thought o' that promise o' '95.)
Then come a plan for to keep away
Them furriners orf our shores;
We 'asn't no use for the likes o' they,
Wi' the crowds at our poor-'ouse doors.
(But our English workmen is still denied,
An' our English waiters can
|
