No pity here nor generous shame,
But just the argument of steel,
The logic of the butcher's knife—
And so she signed away her life.
These object-lessons learnt by rote,
As once we learnt your poison-gas,
Your pupils now are shocked to note
How Teuton wits, a little crass,
Mistake for rude assault and battery
Our imitation's feeble flattery.