  THE Premier sat in the Premier’s chair, And he said to his colleagues assembled there, “The Cabinet meets, as you all are aware, To discuss the momentous button. The time for action has come at last, The French in the tunnel are gathering fast; Now is the time their plans to blast— I am going to touch the button! He put out his finger to do the deed, But a Minister cried, “We are not agreed That the country stands in such desperate need Of a touch of that awful button. The tunnel’s a big commercial spec— Just think of the property we shall wreck! There are plenty of ways the foe to check— Let’s try ’em before the button.” And then there arose a big debate, And the Cabinet sat till rather late Before they could settle the final fate Of Sir Edward Watkin’s button. They argued con, and they argued pro, Till a message came to let them know The Commander-in-Chief was down below In a fury about the button. And while the statesmen were still in doubt The panting duke (he was rather stout) Rushed in, with his brolly blown inside out, And he yelled, “You fools! the button!” In vain did Sir Watkin weep and say— “O, think of the widows and orphans, pray; The finger of fate unless you stay, Their shares won’t be worth a button. “What are the shares,” fierce Cambridge cried, “To the fall of Britain—the ocean’s pride!” He pushed Sir Watkin, who reeled aside, And placed his thumb on the button. But, alas! for the schemes of men and mice— He pressed it once and he pressed it twice; But his heart stood still and his blood was ice— There was something wrong with the button! The tricolour floats from St. Paul’s to-day, For, led by the General Boulanger, The French have come, and they mean to stay, Now they’ve passed the dangerous button. When out of order it proved to be, The whole French army came through with glee That wonderful tunnel beneath the sea— And so much for Sir Watkin’s button! |
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