The Vagabond And Other Poems From Punch Part 6

No Briton he! From palace-born Chinese patricians he descends; He keeps their high ancestral scorn; His spirit breaks, but never bends.

Our water-ways he fain would'scape; He hates the customary bath That thins his tail and spoils his shape, And turns him to a fur-clad lath;

And, seeing that the Pekinese Have l.u.s.trous eyes that bulge like buds, He fain would save such eyes as these, Their owner's pride, from British suds.

Vain are his protests--in he goes.

His young barbarians crowd around; They soap his paws, they soap his nose; They soap wherever fur is found.

And soon, still laughing, they extract His limpness from the darkling tide; They make the towel's roughness act On back and head and dripping side.

They shout and rub and rub and shout-- He deprecates their odious glee-- Until at last they turn him out, A damp gigantic b.u.mble-bee.

Released, he barks and rolls, and speeds From lawn to lawn, from path to path, And in one glorious minute needs More soapsuds and another bath.

PETER, A PEKINESE PUPPY

Our Peter, who's famed as an eater of things, Is a miniature dragon without any wings.

He can gallop or trot, he can amble or jog, But he flies like a flash when he's after his prog; And the slaves who adore him, whatever his mood, Say that nothing is fleeter Than Peter the eater, Than Peter pursuing his food.

He considers the garden his absolute own: It's the place where a digger can bury a bone.

Then he tests his pin-teeth on a pansy or rose, Spreading ruin and petals wherever he goes; And his mistress declares, when he's nibbled for hours, That nothing is sweeter Than Peter the eater, The resolute eater of flowers.

Having finished his dinner he wheedles the cook, Picks a coal from the scuttle or tackles a book, Or devotes all his strength to a slipper or mat, To the gnawing of this and the tearing of that; _Faute de mieux_ takes a dress; and his mistress a.s.serts That there's nothing to beat her Like Peter the eater Attached by his teeth to her skirts.

But at last he has supped, and the moment is come When, his stretchable turn being tight as a drum, He is meek and submissive, who once was so proud, And he creeps to his basket and slumbers aloud.

And his mistress proclaims, as she tucks up his shawl, That nothing is neater Than Peter the eater, Than Peter curled up in a ball, Asleep and digesting it all.

THE DOGS' WELCOME

Hus.h.!.+ We're not a pack of boys Always bound to make a noise.

True, there's one amongst us, but He is young; And, wherever we may take him, We can generally shut Such a youngster up and make him Hold his tongue.

Hus.h.!.+ Most cautiously we go On the tippest tip of toe.

Are the dogs expecting us At the gate?

Two, who usually prize us, Will they jump and make a fuss?

Will they really recognise us Where they wait?

Hus.h.!.+ I hear the funny pair Softly whimpering--yes, they're there.

Dane and Pekinese, they scratch At the wood, At the solid wood between us; Duke attempts to lift the latch; It's a month since they have seen us-- Open! Good!

Down, Duke, down! Enough, enough!

Soo-Ti's screaming; seize his scruff.

Soo-Ti's having fearful fits; Duke is tearing us to bits.

One will trip us, one will throw us-- But, the darlings, _don't_ they know us!

Then off with a clatter the long dog leapt, and, oh, what a race he ran, At the hurricane pace of a minute a mile, as only a long dog can.

Into and out of the bushes he pierced like a shooting star; And now he thundered around us, and now he was whirling far.

And the little dog gazed till he seemed amazed, and then he took to it too; With shrill notes flung from his pert pink tongue right after his friend he flew; And the long legs lashed and the short legs flashed and scurried like anything, While Duke ran round in a circle and Soo-Ti ran in a ring.

And last they hurtled amongst us, and then there were tales to tell, For all of us seemed to be scattered and torn, and all of us shrieked and fell; And John, who is plump, got an awful b.u.mp, and Helen, who's tall and thin, Was shot through a shrub and gained in bruise as much as she lost in skin; And Rosamond's frock was rent in rags, and tattered in strips was Peg's, And both of them suffered the ninepin fate to the ruin of arms and legs; And every face was licked by a dog, and battered was every limb, When Duke ran round in a circle and Soo-Ti ran after him.

ODE TO JOHN BRADBURY

(THE NOTES FOR 1 AND 10S ARE SIGNED BY JOHN BRADBURY)

When the Red KAISER, swoll'n with impious pride And stuffed with texts to serve his instant need, Took Shame for partner and Disgrace for guide, Earned to the full the hateful traitor's meed, And bade his hordes advance Through Belgium's cities towards the fields of France; And when at last our patient island race, By the attempted wrong Made fierce and strong, Flung back the challenge in the braggart's face, Oh then, while martial music filled the air, Clarion and fife and bagpipe and the drum, Calling to men to muster, march, and dare, Oh, then thy day, JOHN BRADBURY, was come.

JOHN BRADBURY, the Muse shall fill my strain To sing thy praises; thou hadst spent thy time Not idly, nor hadst lived thy life in vain, Unfitted for the guerdon of my rhyme.

For lo, the Funds went sudden cras.h.i.+ng down, And men grew pale with monetary fear, And in the toppling mart The stoutest heart Melted, and fortunes seemed to disappear; And some, forgetting their austere renown, Went mad and sold Whate'er they could and wildly called for Gold!

"Since through no fault of ours the die was cast We shall go forth and fight In death's despite And shall return victorious at the last; But how, ah how," they said, "Shall we and ours be fed And clothed and housed from dreary day to day, If, while our hearths grow cold, we have no coin to pay?"

Then thou, where no gold was and little store Of silver, didst appear and wave thy pen, And with thy signature Make things secure, Bidding us all pluck up our hearts once more And face our foolish fancied fears like men.

"I give you notes," you said, "of different kinds To ease your anxious minds: The one is black and shall be fairly found Equal in value to a golden pound; The other--mark its healthy scarlet print-- Is worth a full half-sovereign from the Mint."

Thus didst thou speak--at least I think thou didst-- And, lo, the murmurs fell And all things went right well, While thy notes fluttered in our happy midst.

Therefore our grateful hearts go forth to thee, Our British note-provider, brave JOHN BRADBURY!

TEETH-SETTING

(1914)

When the thunder-shaking German hosts are marching over France-- Lo, the glinting of the bayonet and the quiver of the lance!-- When a rowdy rampant KAISER, stout and mad and middle-aged, Strips his breast of British Orders just to prove that he's enraged; When with fire and shot and pillage He destroys each town and village; When the world is black with warfare, then there's one thing you must do: Set your teeth like steel, my hearties, and sit tight and see it through.

Oh, it's heavy work is fighting, but our soldiers do it well-- Lo, the booming of the batteries, the clatter of the sh.e.l.l!-- And it's weary work retiring, but they kept a dauntless front, All our company of heroes who have borne the dreadful brunt.

They can meet the foe and beat him, They can scatter and defeat him, For they learnt a steady lesson (and they taught a lesson, too), Having set their teeth in earnest and sat tight and seen it through.

Then their brothers trooped to join them, taking danger for a bride, Not in insolence and malice, but in honour and in pride; Caring nought to be recorded on the muster-roll of fame, So they struck a blow for Britain and the glory of her name.

Toil and wounds could but delight them, Death itself could not affright them, Who went out to fight for freedom and the red and white and blue, While they set their teeth as firm as flint and vowed to see it through.

THE DEATH OF EUCLID