 
| ||||||||||||
| 1. Humanity. | 6. Generosity. |
| 2. Veneration. | 7. Compassion. |
| 3. Love of Nature. | 8. Sympathy. |
| 4. Modesty. | 9. Chivalry. |
| 5. Imagination. | 10. Integrity. |
| 11. Love of Children. | |
Mistress of the Trident dread,
With the brow of Artemis,
Like Minerva, helmeted,
Seven Seas her sandals kiss.
Throbs a mighty heart withal
Beneath her armour of Disdain.
Not for naught did Belgium call,
Servia has not cried in vain.
When the gauge of Hate was hurled,
Seven seas at her behest,
From the corners of the world
Brought the bravest and the best.
From the utmost ends of earth,
On their tireless waves they bore,
To the Europe of their birth,
Legions of the land and air,
Spurning Peace, till Peace has brought
Hohenzollern to his fall,
And with the blood of Freemen bought
A Place in Freedom’s Sun for all.
To the Tune of Lewis Carroll
“You are old, Father Wilhelm,” the Crown Prince said,
“And the hair’s growing thin on your pate;
Do you think you are perfectly right in your head—
The way you’ve been acting of late?”
“In my youth,” Father Wilhelm replied to his son,
“I hated my honour to stain
But, now that I’m perfectly sure I have none,
Why, I do it again and again.”
“You are old,” said the Prince, “and you’re getting quite bent,
And rheumatic, yet only just now,
You turned a back somersault into your tent—
Pray why did you do it, and how?”
“In my youth,” Kaiser Wilhelm replied to the Prince,
“I kept all my muscles in training;
And I’ve practised one thing that I learned, ever since—
And that’s to go in when it’s raining.”
“You are old,” said the Prince, “and your head is too light
For anything stronger than water;
Yet you talk without ceasing from morning till night;
Do you think, at your age, that you oughter?”
“In my youth,” said the Kaiser, “I lived upon raw
Spanish onions, I ate with my knife;
And the strength that those onions gave to my jaw
Has lasted the rest of my life.”
“You are old,” said the Kronprins, “and one would suppose,
You would be just a little more humble;
Yet you balance your crown on the end of your nose.
Aren’t you frightened some day it will tumble?”
“Your questions, my boy, are getting too free,”
The Kaiser with anger protested—
“Your impudence borders on LÉsÉ MajestÉ;
Be off, or I’ll have you arrested.”
To the Tune of W. S. Gilbert
Major Fritz-Schinkenwurst Hofbrau Von Beers
Was the pride and the joy of the Pruss Grenadiers.
You’ve guessed him a Prussian, shrewd reader, at sight,
And a glance at his manners will prove you are right.
In his fervour for “Frightfulness” Major Von Beers
Acknowledged no betters and precious few peers.
And every one envied his well-earned repute
For arson and pillage and rapine and loot.
No symphony held such delectable tones
For the ears of Von Beers as the shrieks and the groans
Of women and children bombarded with shell,
Or the crash of a hospital tumbling pell-mell.
One day from Berlin came the order “Refrain
For the present from Frightfulness. Start Press Campaign.
Von Bernstorff has wired we’re getting in wrong
With the Yankees, so play up HUMANITY strong.”
Loud, loud were the wailings of Hofbrau Von Beers.
But duty is duty, so drying his tears,
He purchased a volume by Peter F. Dunne
On “How to be Civilised, though you’re a Hun.”
He swatted up Honour, and Peace and Good-will
For a year seven months and a fortnight until,
You’ll scarcely believe it, that Hun I declare
Acquired a sort of a civilised air.
It was balky, spasmodic and apt to take flight
When a press correspondent was nowhere in sight.
It was clumsy, uncertain and crude, I’m aware,
Yet distinctly suggested a civilised air.
He started at once a colossal campaign
And filled correspondents with fibs and champagne,
And the press correspondents all voted Von Beers
A prince of good fellows, ’mid deafening cheers.
Thenceforth when a soldier forgot to salute,
Von Beers would use kindness instead of his boot.
And he lectured a laggard he’d rather have shot,
If a newspaper man chanced to be on the spot.
If a sentinel, smoking, he happened to catch,
Instead of a hiding he gave him a match.
A caress took the place of a clout on the ear,
That is, when a war correspondent was near.
He distributed photos of Godfearing Huns
Feeding babies with Beef Broth, Bananas and Buns,
And snapshots of Willie that caught his gay glance
And others depicting him weeping for France.
The fame of Von Hofbrau spread over the land,
And rich Lady nurses proposed for his hand,
And the Kaiser, All Highest, ’mid deafening tears
Pinned a cast-iron Halo on Major Von Beers.
A Sniffle in One Act
CHARACTERS
The German Emperor ...
Others not to be mentioned in the same cast.
SCENE
A luxurious dressing room adjoining the Emperor’s Bedroom.
TIME
This morning. The Emperor is discovered standing before a Cheval Glass. He is dressed in what is known as “Athletic Underwear,” with plain black socks, upheld by Boston Garters.
Emperor:
It is not often that one sees
An Emperor in B. V. D.’s.
A knock is heard on the door.
Emperor:
Herein!
A high officer enters with a telegram.
A wire?
Officer:
Yes, Sire, a wire!
Emperor: Tears open envelope.
You may retire.
Reads
Von Hindenburg has wired to say
Our noble troops have won the day
Captured a Russian Samovar
And several tons of caviar
Vodka a fabulous amount
And Droskys more than we can count
The greatest battle of the war,
All honour to the Lord therefore,
Likewise the Fourteenth Army Corps.
Chorus of Officers:
All honour to the Lord therefore,
Not to speak of the Fourteenth Army Corps.
Emperor:
The Lord Be Praised! This cheering news
Will cure my cold and banish my blues.
I haven’t felt anything like so well
Since my gallant Navy with shot and shell
Bombarded the Scarborough Infant School
And the Orphan Asylum at Hartlepool.
Chorus of Officers:
He hasn’t felt anything like so well
Since the Babes were bombarded with shot and shell.
Emperor:
Enough! Enough! Less cheering please
With my nervous system it disagrees.
Alas! My joy
Is not without alloy.
Looks at telegram sadly.
Oh wretched me! On this glorious day
When I should have been in the thick of the fray
I lay in bed
With a cold in my head:
Hot water bottles, Quinine and Squills
Mustard Plasters, and Camphor Pills.
And when they tell of this victory
They do not so much as mention ME!
While peans of praise and plaudits pour
On the Lord—and the Fourteenth Army Corps!
Weeps.
Enter chorus of Highborn Lady Nurses bearing clinical thermometers.
First Nurse:
Oh Sire we entreat!
Second Nurse:
This is most indiscreet!
Third Nurse:
A temperature we dread—
Fourth Nurse:
Oh please go back to bed—
First Nurse:
Please do as you are told,
You have an awful cold.
Emperor: Furious.
A cold!!
Nurse:
I meant to say
Broncho-Pneumonia.
Emperor:
Mine was no common plebeian ill,
’Twas a Pneumo-Psycho-Bronchial chill
According to my medical adviser
I caught it when I walked upon the Yser.
Nurse:
You walked!
Emperor:
I should have said I tried—
You see it was high tide
And I was much annoyed
To find the bridge destroyed.
But never at a loss
I tried to walk across.
Angrily
But by the Eternal One
I swear it can’t be done
And never was——
Stops suddenly and makes as if about to sneeze.
Nurses regard him apprehensively.
Emperor sneezes.
First Nurse:
Ach! Himmel! what a sneeze!
Second Nurse:
Oh Sire! Please!——
Third Nurse:
Oh please!
Fourth Nurse:
Your cold’s gone to your head!
All Together:
You MUST go back to bed!
They seize the Emperor and pull him, struggling, through the door leading to the bedroom.
Emperor:
Nein! Nein! Unhand me, wenches!
My place is in the trenches.
Enter High Officer.
High Officer: Looks about him cautiously.
’Tis an ill wind they say
That profits nobody,
And this Imperial sneeze
May bring us victories,
With Him in bed there’ll be
Some chance for strategy.
If on the other hand——
Emperor: Heard off stage
What ho! My horse!
The Emperor enters
High Officer: Anxiously
You go?
Emperor: Haughtily
Of course!
CURTAIN
Surnamed the Tentbreaker
I
Ah, Franz! Could you and I with Gott conspire
To grab this sorry little globe entire,
Would we not shatter it to bits, and then
Remould it nearer to our heart’s desire?
II
You all know how, the world to overwhelm
I made a second Sparta of my realm
And “dropped the Pilot” from my ship of State
To lay my own mailed fist upon the helm.
III
And how myself did eagerly frequent
Councils of war and heard great argument
About it and about, and every year
Came out with great and greater armament.
IV
For though in ME and MINE I set great store
And THEE and THINE are terms that I abhor,
Of all that one should care to fathom, I
Was never deep in anything but—war.
V
Bernhardi, Nietzsche, Treitschke, who discussed
Of the “Next War,” so wisely, they are thrust
Like foolish prophets forth, their words to scorn
Are scattered and their mouths are stopped with dust.
VI
With them the seed of warfare did I sow,
And with mine own hand wrought to make it grow.
And this is all the Harvest I have reaped:
“I came like thunder—and like wind I go!”
VII
And lately from Hell’s Cavern Door rose up
A shape Titanic, ravening to sup
On Living Human Fodder, and he bade
Me give him taste of it; and ’twas—The Krupp.
VIII
The Krupp that can with Logic absolute
The plans of modern Strategists confute
The steel iconoclast that in a trice
The strongest Fortress into Dust transmute.
IX
The Krupp no question makes of Aye and No,
But strikes alike Cathedral or ChÂteau
And I who send it out into the Field—
I know about it all—I know—I know!
X
And much as War has made an infidel
Of me, and robbed me of my honour, well
I often wonder what the Devil has
One half so devilish as I—In Hell!
XI
Ah, but my innovations people say
Placed war upon a sounder basis? Nay,
’Twas only striking from War’s lexicon
The terms TRUTH, HONOUR, DECENCY, FAIR PLAY.
XII
The Treaties that I set my seal upon
Are turned to dust and ashes, which anon
Like snowflakes falling in a muddy street
Lighting a little hour or two are gone.
XIII
What if my sword can fling the Sheath aside
And naked plunge into the crimson tide,
Were’t not a shame, were’t not a shame for me,
By a “mere scrap of paper” to abide?
XIV
Indeed, indeed, continually I swore
For Peace—but was I solemn when I swore?
And then—then came the Day and sword in hand
My threadbare piety apieces tore.
XV
From Europe’s centre, through the Belgian gate
I rode and at the Door of Paris sate.
And many a city ravished by the road,
But Paris—she is still immaculate.
XVI
Here was the Gate to which I found no key;
Here was the Wall o’er which I might not see.
Some little talk awhile of strategy
There was, and then—good afternoon, Paree!
“Can you spare a Threepenny bit,
Dear Miss Turkey,” said Sir Mouse,
“For Job’s Turkey’s benefit?
I’ve engaged the Opera House!”
“Alas! I’ve naught to spare!”
Said Miss Turkey, “save advice,
I am getting up a Fair,
To relieve the Poor Church Mice.”
In the cloisters of the grass,
Lit by buttercups and daisies,
Celebrants of summer mass,
Little creatures sing their praises.
From a myriad throbbing throats
Rises up their song of Love,
Like a mist of golden motes,
To the Golden Throne above.
And the good Lord, bending nigh,
Quite forgets his house of stone
Where the frightened sinners cry,
And the frowning priests intone,
And the saints (if saints they be)
Smile and smile in effigy.
ABOUT PEOPLE I HAVE MET
