EVICTION.
A Woful Ballad of Wimbledon. Air—"The British Grenadier."
Illustrious President. "Now, my Lad, sorry to Inconvenience you, but—hem—ha—you must really Go—somewhere else!"
Some prate of patriotism, and some of cheap defence,
But to the high official mind that's all absurd pretence;
For of all the joys of snubbing, there's none to it sodear,
As to snub, snub, snub, snub, snub, snub the British Volunteer!
A patriotic Laureate may bid the Rifles form,
And Citizens may look to them for safety in War's storm;
But Secretaries, Dooks, and such at this delight to jeer,
And to snub, snub, snub, snub, snub, snub the British Volunteer!
A semi-swell he may be, but he may be a mere clerk,
And he's an interloper, and to snub him is a lark.
Sometimes he licks the Regulars, and so our duty's clear,
'Tis to snub, snub, snub, snub, snub, snub the British Volunteer!
He hankers for an increase in his Capitation Grant,
It's like his precious impudence, and have the lift he shan't.
What, make it easier for him to run us close? No fear!
We'll snub, snub, snub, snub, snub, snub the British Volunteer!
He has a fad for Wimbledon, but that is just a whim,
And as eviction's all the go, we'll try it upon him.
He's not an Irish tenant, so no one will interfere,
When once more we snub, snub, snub, snub the British Volunteer!
His targets and his tents and things are nuisances all round,
As Jerry-Builders, Dooks, and other Toffs have lately found.
Compared with bricks and mortar and big landlords he's small beer,
So we'll snub, snub, snub, snub, snub, snub the British Volunteer!
The Common's vastly handy, there's no doubt, to chaps in town,
And crowds of Cockneys to the butts can quickly hurry down;
But what are allTown's Cockneys to one solitary Peer?
No; let us snub, snub, snub, snub the British Volunteer!
Your Citizen who wants to play at soldiers need not look
To have his little way as though he were a Royal Dook.
With building-leases—sacred things!—he must not interfere,
So let us snub, snub, snub, snub the British Volunteer!
If he must shoot his annual shoot somewhere, why, let him go
To Pirbright or to Salisbury Plain, or e'en to Jericho.
But out from his loved Wimbledon he'll surely have to clear,—
A final snub, snub, snub, snub to the British Volunteer!
