Your troth was broken ere the trumpets blew;
Into the fight with unclean hands you rode:
Your spurs were sullied, and the sword you drew
Bore stain of outrage done to honour’s code.
And you have played your game as you began,
Witness the white flag raised ...
•••••••
And the swift stroke of traitor steel for thanks.
•••••••
The world (no fool) will know where lies the blame
If England lets your pleadings go unheard;
To grace of chivalry you’ve lost your claim;
We’ve grown too wise to trust a Bosche’s word.
O.S.
Punch: February 16, 1916.