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Page 8
RECITATIVE.
Near NELSON's monument, with gloom opprest,
The rowdy mourns a Question, now at rest.
But ASQUITH's laurels shall not fade with years,
Whose canny settlement the public cheers.
AIR.
'Twas in Trafalgar's Square,
We heard the spouters blare,
Each rough rejoicing then.
They scorned churl WARREN's yoke,
Of order made a joke,
And claimed the Rights of Men.
But ASQUITH came, the cool and brave,
And poured oil on the troubled wave.
His speech was just a beauty!
Along each line this meaning ran:--
"England respects true Rights of Man,
But means enforcing Duty."
No more rude mobs may roar,
A nuisance and a bore,
Where'er BURNS lead the way.
As victory is this claimed
By spouts, by cool sense tamed?
All right! Let them hooray!
But dearly is their conquest bought,
'Twas scarce for this mad GRAHAM fought
'Tis _fair_, though--there's its beauty.
All just claims met by this shrewd plan,
The speechifying Rights of Man,
Plus the Policeman's duty.
ASQUITH's clear, certain sound,
Will spread dismay around;
_Some_ circles. "We believed!
ASQUITH was on _our_ side,"
The roughs will say. "He's tried,
And we--well, we're deceived.
If we're _permitted_ in this Square
To muster there, why should we care?
The game has lost its beauty!
Licence unfettered is _our_ plan.
Who cares a cuss for Rights of Man,
Checked by that bugbear Duty?"
* * * * *
PRESENTED AT COURT.
MR. PUNCH, SIR,
I am indignant--disgusted! I went last night to see a new piece,
called _The Guardsman_, at the Court Theatre, the plot of which,
reminded me--'tis merely a coincidence--of _Incognita_, now going
strong in St. Martin's Lane. The coincident being that a certain young
man won't marry an uncertain young lady whom they want him to marry,
because he is in love with quite another young lady (as he thinks) who
(the _incognita_) turns out to be the very lady whom he is required
to wed. However, that's not what I'm writing about. I leave criticism
to your "professional gent." Well, Sir, it was very amusing, and
very well acted. But from a military point of view, shameful,
Sir!--shameful! The people about me were laughing, and said that the
lines were good; that, take it all round, it ought to be a success;
that it was most amusing. But how could I appreciate anything when I
found a Captain in the Guards, on the Queen's Birthday, walking about
in plain leather boots! It was as bad, in my mind, as when Mr. CHARLES
WARNER, in the piece called _In the Ranks_, appeared as a private in
the same distinguished Regiment in patent leathers! And what was the
Captain doing, Sir, in mess uniform at his uncle's chambers, when he
was supposed to be on guard at the Tower? At least so I understood him
to be, but I may have been wrong. At any rate, an odd sort of place
to dine at, if he was not on duty, and if he were, he should not have
left his post. Moreover, where was his scarf, as orderly officer? But
perhaps he was not on duty, and had dropped in upon the mess (in the
height of the Season!) in a friendly sort of way. Well, that might
explain matters a bit, but not to my entire satisfaction. And my wife
tells me that it is rather late to make alterations in a Court dress
the day before the Drawing-Room. And she says, too, that she has never
been hustled and crushed when she has gone to Buckingham Palace. And
if it comes to that, Sir, I have accompanied her, and can vouch for
the strict accuracy of the statement. But these are minor matters.
What I _cannot_ stand are _The Guardsman's_ boots!
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