And loves to drown great luncheons in champagne,
But who, to prove he loves his England more,
Strikes at you with his cane.
The while Miss Podsnap, who in dogs can brook
No name that smacks of Teuton, snatches up,
Lest you contaminate it with a look,
Her Pomeranian pup.
Forgive them, Pete! We are not all well-bred,
Not all so wise, so sensible as you;
Not all our sires, for generations dead,