POETRY.

Tell men of high condition That manage the estate, Their purpose is ambition, Their practice only hate.

And if they once reply, Then give them all the lie."

—SIR WALTER RALEGH, The Lie.

G-o forth, 0 "Limehouse limb,"* Upon your risky road,

Chanting the Georgian battle-hymn That knows no palinode, And tell each erring brother Politely he's another.

Tell how the Duke's estate, When sold, brought in a pot Of money thirty times as great As what he really got. And when the Duke denies, Do not apologise.

Tell men that Dukes withhold From struggling village clubs, Though simply wallowing in gold, Their paltry guinea "subs." And if the Dukes explain, Why, tell your tale again.

• See Shakespeare (Henry VIII., Act V., Scene 4, line 66) on "the limbs of Limehouse." .

Tell all the aged poor, Whatever its intentions A Tory Government, you're sure, Can never pay their pensions. If Tories should resent it, Tell them you never meant it.

Tell Wealth she must disgorge Her huge ill-gotten gains And pay, to satisfy Lloyd George, A super-tax on brains.

And if Wealth answer back, Put Wealth upon the rack.

Tell Thrift she dams the streams Of sentiment which play

On all humanitarian schemes—

Schemes that have come to stay. And if her cause she plead, Straightway miscall her Greed.

Tell Truth she is a maid Whom you revere too highly To drag her out at Biggleswade, At Broxburn, or at Filey. And if Truth should rebel, Confine her to her well.

Tell Justice she is deaf

To ev'ry honest claim— Unless the claimant has a chef

And a handle to his name. If Justice ask for proofs, Make answer with your hoof's.

So, having said your say, If troubled by compunction, Be sure unto your soul to lay This all-consoling unction : No matter who is strongest, The first mud thrown sticks longest. C. L. G.