You may say if you please, Johnny Bull, that our girls <br />Are crazy to marry your dukes and your earls; <br />But I've heard that the maids of your own little isle <br />Greet bachelor lords with a favoring smile. <br /> <br /> <br />Nay, titles, 'tis said in defense of our fair, <br />Are popular here because popular there; <br />And for them our ladies persistently go <br />Because 'tis exceedingly English, you know. <br /> <br /> <br />Whatever the motive, you'll have to confess <br />The effort's attended with easy success; <br />And-pardon the freedom-'tis thought, over here, <br />'Tis mortification you mask with a sneer. <br /> <br /> <br />It's all very well, sir, your scorn to parade <br />Of the high nasal twang of the Yankee maid, <br />But, ah, to my lord when he dares to propose <br />No sound is so sweet as that 'Yes' from the nose. <br /> <br /> <br />Ah, well, if the dukes and the earls and that lot <br />Can stand it (God succor them if they can not!) <br />Your commoners ought to assent, I am sure, <br />And what they're not called on to suffer, endure. <br /> <br /> <br />''Tis nothing but money?-your nobles are bought'? <br />As to that, I submit, it is commonly thought <br />That England's a country not specially free <br />Of Croesi and (if you'll allow it) Croesæ. <br /> <br /> <br />You've many a widow and many a girl <br />With money to purchase a duke or an earl. <br />'Tis a very remarkable thing, you'll agree, <br />When goods import buyers from over the sea. <br /> <br /> <br />Alas for the woman of Albion's isle! <br />She may simper; as well as she can she may smile; <br />She may wear pantalettes and an air of repose- <br />But my lord of the future will talk through his nose.<br /><br />Ambrose Bierce<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/in-defense/
