  IGigantic daughter of the West (The phrase is Tennysonian), who From this unconquerable breast The vigorous milk of Freedom drew —We gave it freely—shall the crest Of Empire in your keeping true, Shall England—I forget the rest, But Consols are at 82. IINow why should any one invest, As even City people do (His Lordship did among the rest), When stocks—but what is that to you? And then, who ever could have guessed About the guns—and horses too!— Besides, they knew their business best, And Consols are at 82. IIIIt serves no purpose to protest, It isn’t manners to halloo About the way the thing was messed— Or vaguely call a man a Jew. A gentleman who cannot jest Remarked that we should muddle through (The continent was much impressed), And Consols are at 82. Envoi And, Botha lay at Pilgrim’s Rest And Myberg in the Great Karroo (A desert to the south and west), And Consols are at 82. Postscript Permit me—if you do not mind— To add it would be screaming fun If, after printing this, I find Them after all at 81. Or 70 or 63, Or 55 or 44, Or 39 and going free, Or 28—or even more. No matter—take no more advice From doubtful and intriguing men. Refuse the stuff at any price, And slowly watch them fall to 10. Meanwhile I feel a certain zest In writing once again the new Refrain that all is for the best, And Consols are at 82. TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES: Obvious typographical errors have been corrected. The cover image for this eBook was created by the transcriber and is entered into the public domain. |
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