THE LAST-STRAW.
I don't agree with grousing, and I trust I shall escape any
Desire to pick a quarrel with an egg at fivepence ha'penny;
I'm quite prepared to recognise that no persuasive charm'll aid
In getting from a grocer either cheese or jam or marmalade;
I brave the brackish bacon and refrain from ever uttering
Complaints about the margarine that on my bread I'm buttering;
I'm not unduly bored with CHARLIE CHAPLIN on the cinema
And view serenely miners agitating for their minima;
I sit with resignation in a study stark and shivery,
Desiderating coal with little hope of its delivery;
I realise that getting into tram or tube's improbable
And pardon profiteers for robbing ev'ryone that's robable;
I don't mind cleaning doorsteps in the view of all ignoble eyes
(Now Mary, my domestic, has decided to demobilise);
Though life is like a poker that you've handled at the vivid end
And all my wretched companies have ceased to pay a dividend—
All these and other worries, though they're very near the limit, I
Maintain that I can face with philosophic equanimity;
But, when I by my family and fond and fussy friends am asked
To trot about in public with my features influenza-masked,
My sense of humour wrings from me (or possibly a lack of it)
The protest of the camel at the straw that breaks the back of it.