Listen, my children, and you shall hear <br />The midnight activities of Whats-his Name, <br />Scarcely a general now known to fame <br />Can tell you of that famous day and year. <br /> <br />When feeble Mr. Asquith, getting old, <br />The destinies of England were almost sold <br />To a Welsh shifter with an ogling eye, <br />And Whats-his-name attained nobility. <br /> <br />The Dashing Rupert of the pulping trade, <br />Rough from the virgin forests inviolate, <br />Thus rose in Albion, and tickled the State <br />And where he once set foot, right there he stayed. <br /> <br />Old 'Erb was doting, so the rumour ran, <br />Ahd Rupert ran the rumour round in wheels, <br />And David's harp let out heart-rending squeals: <br />'Find us a harpist ! ! DAVID is the man!!' <br /> <br />Dave was the man to sell the shot and shell, <br />And Basil was the Greek that rode around <br />On sea and land, with all convenience found <br />To sell, to sell, to sell, that's it, to SELL <br /> <br />Destroyers, bombs and spitting mitrailleuses. <br />He used to lunch with Balfour in those days <br />And if the papers seldom sang his praise, <br />The simple Britons never knew he was, <br /> <br />Until a narsty German told them so. <br />Listen, my children, and you shall hear <br />Of things that happened very long ago, <br />And scarcely heed one word of what you hear. <br /> <br />Bury it all, bury it all well deep, <br />And let the blighters start it all over again. <br />They'll trick you again and again, as you sleep; <br />But you shall know that these were the men,<br /><br />Ezra Pound<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/alf-s-ninth-bit/
