Page:Departmental Ditties and Ballads and Barrack-Room Ballads, Kipling, 1899.djvu/157

This page has been proofread, but needs to be validated.
143
ONE VICEROY RESIGNS

How little Begums see the light—deduce
Thence how the True Reformer's child is born.
It's interesting, curious ... and vile.
I told the Turk he was a gentleman.
I told the Russian that his Tarter veins
Bled pure Parisian ichor; and he purred.
The Congress doesn't purr. I think it swears.
You're young—you'll swear too ere you've reached the end.
The End! God help you, if there be a God.
(There must be one to startle Gl-dst-ne's soul
In that new land where all the wires are cut,
And Cr-ss snores anthems on the asphodel.)
God help you! And I'd help you if I could,
But that's beyond me. Yes, your speech was crude.
Sound claret after olives—yours and mine;
But Medoc slips into vin ordinaire.
(I'll drink my first at Genoa to your health)
Raise it to Hock. You'll never catch my style.
And, after all, the middle-classes grip
The middle-class—for Brompton talk Earl's Court.
Perhaps you're right. I'll see you in the Times
A quarter-column of eye-searing print,

A leader once a quarter—then a war;