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Outlook Odes   By: (1865-1924)

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OUTLOOK

ODES

By T. W. H. CROSLAND

AUTHOR OF "THE UNSPEAKABLE SCOT," "LITERARY PARABLES," "THE FINER SPIRIT," &c.

LONDON: AT THE UNICORN

VII CECIL COURT W.C.

MCMII

TO

THE LORD WINDSOR

ONE GOOD TURN DESERVES ANOTHER

CONTENTS

TO THE PRIVATE MEMBER

TO THE TRUE BORN BRITON ( After Peace Night. )

TO THE CAMBRIDGE CREW

TO DAN LENO ( On his appearance at Sandringham. )

TO THE POPE

TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE JOSEPH CHAMBERLAIN ( Touching his audience of the King. )

TO THE TSAR ( After Dunkirk. )

TO DAN LENO

TO THE POET LAUREATE

TO THE AMERICAN INVADER

TO THE "MUDDIED OAF"

TO A PUBLISHER

TO AN HOTEL KEEPER

TO THE MAN WITH A GUN

TO THE STOCK EXCHANGE ( On its Centenary. )

TO THE LORD MAYOR ( November 9 th. )

TO THE MOTORIST

TO NEXT CHRISTMAS

TO THE TRIPPER

TO THE GLASGOW MAGISTRATES ( On their proposal to banish barmaids. )

TO A BOOKSELLER

TO THE DECEASED WIFE'S SISTER

TO THE CHANCELLOR OF THE EXCHEQUER ( Before his retirement. )

TO THE COMMON GOLFER

TO MR. PIERPONT MORGAN

TO PRINCE EDWARD OF YORK ( On the return of the "Ophir." )

TO MME. BERNHARDT

TO SIR WILLIAM HARCOURT

TO THE KING'S BULLDOG

TO THE DAILY MAIL ( August 3, 1901.)

TO EVERYBODY

TO THE PRIVATE MEMBER

My dear Sir, You may think it unkind of me To interrupt the peaceful calm of your holiday With a poem about business. But I assure you, my dear sir, That I do so with the very best intentions, And at the call of what I consider to be duty. Duty, as you know, is a tremendous abstraction, And brings a man into all sorts of difficult corners. It was duty that took you into Parliament: Similarly it is duty that constrains me to Odes. When a man sees another man and pities him, It is the duty of the first man to let the other man know about it Delicately. I pity you, my dear Mr. Private Member, From the bottom of a bottomless heart. Many a time and oft in the course of my rambles Through the lobbies and liquor bars of St. Stephens It has been my ineffable portion to run across you Silk hat, frock coat, baggy trousers, patient stare, bored expression: Suddenly you smile And crook the pregnant hinges of the back of your neck. Mrs. Wiggle, the three Misses Wiggle, and little Master Wiggle, Wife, daughters, and son of Mr. Forthree Wiggle, Draper, and burgess of the good old Parliamentary Division Of Mudsher West, Are up from Mudsher West, And they want showin' round the 'Ouse, you know. Round you go. Again: you appear in the Strangers' Lobby, Spectacles on nose, somebody's card in hand. The policeman roars out name of leading constituent. Leading constituent departed in a huff twenty minutes ago, Because he thought you were not attending to him. There being no answer, Policeman roars out name of leading constituent once more. Name echoes along Lords' Lobby; But not being there, leading constituent fails to come forward. You look embarrassed, turn tail, retire to your back bench, And feel deucedly uncomfortable for the rest of the evening. You would like to get away to the theatre, But you dare not do it: There are Whips about. You would like to go home to bed; You must wait the good pleasure of the course of the debate. You would like to stand on your hind legs And address the House on large matters: But you know in your heart That the House will stand absolutely nothing from you Bar a question or so. You sit, and sit, and sit through dull debate after dull debate, And you sigh for the hustings and the brass bands, And the banquets and the "He's a jolly good fellow" s And wonder how it comes to pass That you, who were once set down in the Mudsher Mercury For a blend of Demosthenes and John Bright, Can never get more than twenty words off the end of your tongue After "Mr. Speaker, Sir." Oh! my dear Mr. Private Member, Your case is indeed a sad one, And it is all the sadder when one comes to reflect That, as a general rule, you are a sincereish sort of man, Burning and bursting with a desire To do your poor suffering country A bit of good... Continue reading book >>




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