« AnteriorContinuar »
If they rust or rot we die,
Very mighty is the power of our Kings! Triumphal return to Simla of the Investigators, attired after the manner of Dionysus, leading a pet tiger-cub in wreaths of rhubarb-leaves, symbolical of India under medical treatment. They sing:
We have seen, we have written-behold it, the proof of our manifold toil!
In their hosts they assembled and told it-the tale of the Sons of the Soil.
We have said of the Sickness-"Where is it?"-and of Death -"It is far from our ken,"
We have paid a particular visit to the affluent children of men. We have trodden the mart and the well-curb-we have stooped to the bield and the byre;
And the King may the forces of Hell curb for the People have all they desire!
Castanets and step-dance:—
Oh, the dom1 and the mag and the thakur and the thag,
And the bunnia and the ryot are as happy and as quiet
Yes, the jain and the jat in his stucco-fronted hut,
By the favour of the King, are as fat as anything,
'A list of various Indian tribes and castes.
RECITATIVE, Government of India, with white satin wings and electro-plated harp:
How beautiful upon the Mountains-in peace reclining, Thus to be assured that our people are unanimously dining. And though there are places not so blessed as others in natural advantages, which, after all, was only to be expected,
Proud and glad are we to congratulate you upon the work you have thus ably effected.
(Cres.) How be-ewtiful upon the Mountains!
HIRED BAND, brasses only, full chorus:—
God bless the Squire
We eat our proper rations,
We have, we have, they say we have-
CHORUS OF THE CRYSTALLISED FACTS
Before the beginning of years
And the bigots took in hand
In the houses of death and of birth.
The Much Administered Man.
In the towns of the North and the East,
And Right-and Might in the Right.
At his heart is his daughter's wedding,
THE MARE'S NEST
JANE AUSTEN BEECHER STOWE DE ROUSE
He smoked cigars, called churches slow,
For Belial Machiavelli kept
The little fact a secret, and, Though o'er his minor sins she wept, Jane Austen did not understand That Lilly-thirteen-two and bayAbsorbed one-half her husband's pay.
She was so good she made him worse
(Some women are like this, I think); He taught her parrot how to curse,
Her Assam monkey how to drink. He vexed her righteous soul until She went up, and he went down hill.
Then came the crisis, strange to say,
Which turned a good wife to a better. A telegraphic peon, one day,
Brought her-now, had it been a letter For Belial Machiavelli, I
Know Jane would just have let it le
But 'twas a telegram instead,
Marked "urgent," and her duty plain open it. Jane Austen read:"Your Lilly's got a cough again. "Can't understand why she is kept "At your expense." Jane Austen wept.
It was a misdirected wire,
Her husband was at Shaitanpore.
Then Belial Machiavelli saw
Her error and, I trust, his own,
And travelled wifeward-not alone.
There was a scene-a weep or two—
THE BALLAD OF FISHER'S BOARDING-HOUSE
That night, when through the mooring-chains
The wide-eyed corpse rolled free,
To blunder down by Garden Reach
And rot at Kedgeree,
The tale the Hughli told the shoal
"TWAS Fultah Fisher's boarding-house,
And there were men of all the ports
And regally they spat and smoked,