Well—take my tip. Just do your level best, remember! For
The blame, my son, lies at your own, not Mr. Punch's door.
So mind, young Sir, for Mr. Punch's eye
Is cocked upon you through your little life.
Go—rule the world!—and if before you die
You fill the earth with joy instead of strife,
You'll be the first of all your race—for all the smiles they wore—
That gave the country what she asked—from 0 to '94!