Summary

Various Punch, or the London Charivari…

From the Blue Books croakers borrow—sorrow for the days of yore,
For the days when "Rule Britannia" sounded far o'er sea and shore.
Ah! it must have been a bore!
But on that let's draw the curtain. I am simply cock-sure—certain
That "our splendid little Army" never was so fine before.
It will take a lot of beating! Such remarks I keep repeating;
They come handy—after eating, and are always sure to score—
Dash that rapping chap entreating entrance at my Office-door!
It is an infernal bore!
Source: Gutenberg

Various Punch, or the London Charivari…

But with scornful look, though shady, perched above my Office-door,
Perched upon BRITANNIA's bust that stood above my Office-door—
Perched, and sat, and seemed to snore.
"Well," I said, sardonic smiling, "this is really rather riling;
"It comports not with decorum such as the War Office bore
In old days stiff and clean-shaven. Dub me a Gladstonian craven
If I ever saw a Raven at the W.O. before.
Tell me what your blessed name is. 'Rule Britannia' held of yore,"
Quoth the bird, "'Tis so no more!"
Source: Gutenberg

Various Punch, or the London Charivari…

Fustian, which so little meaning—little relevancy bore
To the rule of me and SOLLY; but, although it may sound folly,
This strange fowl a strange resemblance to "Our Only General" wore,
To the W-LS-L-Y whose pretensions to sound military lore
Are becoming quite a bore.
But the Raven, sitting lonely on that much-peeled bust, spake only
Of our Army as a makeshift, small, ill-manned, and precious poor.
Source: Gutenberg

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