A SWINBURNE!
(See "Nineteenth Century.")
I.
Three times one are always three;
Waves are stormy on the sea;
Bonnets oft contain a bee;
Bear delights in bun.
The Algernon, that ever
Is linked to Charles, shall never
From poet Swinburne sever,
The three appear as one.
II.
Once he lashed and slashed the Priest,
Chopped him up to make a feast,
Called him brute and called him beast,
Black as crows are black.
But now he rhymes "together"
(See Calverly) with "weather":
He might have thrown in "heather,"
A rhyme that men call "hack."
III.
Clash the cymbal, beat the gong;
Sense is weak, but sound is strong;
Such is Swinburne's latest song,
Made by him alone.
See Watts and Knowles around us,—
James Knowles with cheques hath bound us
To write; the Muse hath found us
With Putney Hill as throne.
IV.
When the wind's Nor-West by West,
Man and beast are rarely blessed.
Sometimes I like mutton best,
Often I like veal.
A poet (not a puny 'un)
Who raves about the Union,
And hymns the States Communion,
Takes none the less his meal.
In the City. Thursday Last.
First Member of Stock Exchange (Unionist). I say, Jones, you weren't in it! Why didn't you join us marching in procession, with Clarke carrying the Union Jack, eh?
Second Member of the House. Why didn't I join you? Because I didn't want to make a Union-Jack-ass of myself!
[Exit, before the retort is possible.
A Pair of Spectacles.
(After hearing a much interrupted Speech in the Commons.)
When a batsman has to go
To the tent with a "round O,"
He knows he's not made a hit.
When a Statesman's hitting well,
The round "Oh's" around him swell
(Dullards' substitutes for wit).
In debate or cricket score,
The "round O" means nought—no more!
