frowns
And my chickens are jocund and sprightly,
Where dogs in their kennels avoid being snappy,
And ev'ry dumb creature is healthy and happy.
Each sheep is diverted with suitable toys
That shall keep it obese and contented;
Ev'ry pig, whose delectable flesh one enjoys,
With a doll or a drum is presented;
For 'tis thus that I nurture those succulent lambs
That are always so sweet and so tender,
And secure those remarkably delicate hams
Which the sow is so loth to surrender;
Ev'ry egg (as supplied to our own Royal Fam'ly)
Is hatched by a hen who has patronised Hamley!
Each ox is devoted to 'Animal Grab,'
Ev'ry heifer plays 'tag' with a wether;
There's a swan who at 'Pool' is no end of a dab,
And the pigs play 'Backgammon' together.
'Pitch-and-toss' is the favourite game of the bull,
'Ducks-and-drakes' makes the goslings feel perky,
While the crossest old ram never 'loses his wool'
When he plays 'Rouge-et-noir' with the turkey;
Which is why all my produce—cheese, poultry or mutton—
Appeals to the taste of both gourmet and glutton!
THE ADVENTURER
['Gentleman, aged 26, seeks adventure; well up in finance, badminton, tennis, swimming, canoeing, bridge, and mechanics; banker's reference, if required.'—The Times.]
My word! I'm the chap for adventures!
There's nothing on earth I can't do,
From dabbling in doubtful debentures
To paddling a birch-bark canoe!
At golf, when I get into trouble,
How 'dead' my approaches are laid!
At bridge, how I dauntlessly double
Each spade!
While as for lawn-tennis, there never was yet
A player who volleyed so hard at the net!
At chess I've invented a gambit
That fills my opponents with dread;
At billiards I don't care a d—— bit
How often I pocket the red!
In water I swim like a salmon,
At football I kick all the goals;
I'm simply first-class at backgammon
Or bowls,
And, really, I'm equally deft and adroit
When I'm handling a mallet or pitching a quoit!
And now for employment I hanker
Where gifts such as mine are of use;
(A character, backed by my banker,
I'm only too glad to produce).
A life of adventure that's brimming
With badminton, bridge, and canoes,
With simple mechanics and swimming,
I'd choose——
A life for a man who's 'well up in finance,'
With a sprinkling of sport and a dash of romance! |
A PLEA FOR PONTO
[Sir Frederick Banbury moved in the House of Commons:—'That in the opinion of this House no operation for the purpose of vivisection should be performed upon dogs.']
When you're studying the habits
Of the germ of German measles,
When you're searching out a cure for indigestion,
You may practise upon rabbits,
Upon guinea-pigs, or weasels,
If you think that they throw light upon the question;
You may note how bad the bite is
Of the microbe of bronchitis,
By performing operations upon frogs,
But I've yet to hear the mention
Of a surgical invention
That can justify experiments on DOGS.
I would sooner people perished
Of lumbago or swine-fever
(Or, at any rate, I'd rather they should chance it!)
Than that any hound I cherished
From a 'pom' to a retriever,
Should be subject to the vivisector's lancet.
I know nought of theoretics,
But in spite of anæsthetics
—Ether, chloroform or other soothing drug—
(Though perhaps I argue wrongly)
I should disapprove most strongly,
If I found a person puncturing my pug!
If we wish to make a bee-line
For the chicken-pox bacillus,
From the hen-house there is nothing to debar us;
We may learn from creatures feline
What the causes are that kill us
When we suffer from infirmities catarrhous!
But when dogs' insides we study,
Then our hands and hearts grow bloody,
And we needn't be a crank or partisan
To display a strong objection
To the so-called vivisection
Of that animal we style the Friend of Man! |
THE 'WASTER'
['I think that in certain respects the 'Waster' is one of the great forces of Empire; it is in him that the spirit of the Elizabethan gentleman adventurer survives most vigorously. To me the waster is a peculiarly English product; in many respects he appeals to me more than any one in the community.'—Sir Herbert Tree.]
When others praise the pious,
My own response is faint;
I feel no morbid bias
In favour of the saint.
My pæans, rather, let me raise
To laud the 'Waster' and his ways!
I love to watch my hero,
As through the streets he struts,
With loud 'Pip! Pip!' or 'Cheer Oh!'
Greeting his fellow-Nuts,
And haunting ev'ry public bar
To cadge a cocktail or cigar!
Each Saturday, at Brighton,
How well he plays the rôle
Of Admirable Crichton,
At Grand or Metropole!
The British Lion's whelp, indeed,
True scion of the Bulldog Breed!
The 'unco guid' may censure,
The prudes their eyebrows raise;
His passion for adventure
Recalls those spacious days
When Britain's flag, from sea to sea,
Was borne by 'Wasters' such as he!
And soon 'twill be his mission,
When fall'n on evil
|
