[On sending a certain telegram.]
Majestic Monarch! whom the other gods,
For fear of their immediate removal,
Consulting hourly, seek your awful nod's
Approval;
Lift but your little finger up to strike,
And lo! 'the massy earth is riven' (Shelley),
The habitable globe is shaken like
A jelly.
By your express permission for the last
Eight years the sun has regularly risen;
And editors, that questioned this, have passed
To prison.
In Art you simply have to say, "I shall!"
Beethoven's fame is rendered transitory;
And Titian cloys beside your clever all-
-egory.
We hailed you Admiral: your eagle sight
Foresaw Her Majesty's benign intentions;
A uniform was ready of the right
Dimensions.
Your wardrobe shines with all the shapes and shades,
That genius can fix in fancy suitings;
For levees, false alarums, full parades
And shootings.
But save the habit marks the man of gore
Your spurs are yet to win, my callow Kaiser!
Of fighting in the field you know no more
Than I, Sir!
When Grandpapa was thanking God with hymns
For gallant Frenchmen dying in the ditches,
Your nurse had barely braced your little limbs
In breeches.
And doubtless, where he roosts beside his bock,
The Game Old Bird that played the leading fiddle
Smiles grimly as he hears your perky cock-
-a-diddle.
Be well advised, my youthful friend, abjure
These tricks that smack of Cleon and the tanners;
And let the Dutch instruct a German Boor
In manners.
Nor were you meant to solve the nations' knots,
Or be the Earth's Protector, willy-nilly;
You only make yourself and royal Pots-
-dam silly.
Our racing yachts are not at present dressed
In bravery of bunting to amuse you,
Nor can the licence of an honoured guest
Excuse you.
But if your words are more than wanton play
And you would like to meet the old sea-rover,
Name any course from Delagoa Bay
To Dover.
Meanwhile observe a proper reticence;
We ask no more; there never was a rumour
Of asking Hohenzollerns for a sense
Of humour!