Fiscal Ballads Part 3

'Ha! but we'll keep 'em out,' sez you.

Then where's our promised revenoo?

If that's the price as must be paid To forward Joe's Imperial mission; If we must bolster up our trade, An' not allow no compet.i.tion, By taxing them as 'as to buy, 'Gawd 'elp our British trade!' sez I.

'CONTROVERSIAL METHODS'

It doesn't matter if I goes Inside our local Workman's Club To 'ave a game o' dominoes, Or drops into the nearest pub; In 'arf a moment in 'll walk Some bloke as starts a fiscal talk.

An' if I ever tries, per'aps, To criticise this scheme o' Joe's, There's always some excited chaps As leads from arguments to blows.

An' then we throws the things about, Till someone calls the chucker-out.

They states that England's gone to pot, That ev'ry trade is lost to 'er; An' if I dares to say it's not, They calls me 'Little Englander'!

(On one I 'ad to use my fist: 'E said I was a 'hoptimist.')

Nor yet it ain't no furrin foes As thus belittles Britain's fame; It's partisans o' good old Joe's As brings discredit on 'er name, By shouting out to ev'ryone That little England's day is done.

One night Jim Adams sez to me, 'Ole England's rotten to the core!'

An' when 'e finds I don't agree, 'E ups an' calls me a pro-Boer!

(I 'ad a word or two with 'im; 'E's still in 'orspital, is Jim!)

If them so-called Imperialists Is blokes as runs their country down, Upon 'er ruined state insists, An' tries to blacken 'er renown, Then I for one 'ud much prefer To be a 'Little Englander.'

If wot their politicians styles The 'patriotic' point of view Is saying that these British Isles 'As lost their trade an' credit too, I ain't a patriot no more: I'm just a hoptimist pro-Boer!

I'm not the sort o' chap as blames Them folks as don't agree wi' me, But when they calls me silly names Because my fiscal views is Free, It don't require no further flaws To see the weakness o' their cause.

A MESSAGE FROM BROADMOOR

Altho' my brain is sound and well, An' mentally I've nothing wrong, They've locked me in a padded cell, An' watches me the 'ole day long; 'Ow did I get in such a fix?

'Twas all along o' politics.

I'd studied Joe's Protection plan, An' thought I'd see what I could do To benefit my fellow-man By practisin' 'is 'opeful view That Exports is the all in all, And Himports should be nil--or small.

So, when I stayed with Uncle Bill (My visit ain't improved 'is manners), I managed, when I left, to fill My pockets with 'is best 'Avannahs; The cigarettes I left be'ind Was quite the cheapest I could find.

Yet Uncle Bill 'e couldn't see That since 'is Exports far exceeded 'Is Himports--thanks, o' course, to me-- That was exactly what he needed To make 'im prosperous again; 'E merely said I was insane!

'E couldn't understand, wot's more, ('E was a Cobdenite, an' still is), Why, when I traded at the door 'Is hovercoat for Weary Willie's, 'E, not the tramp, 'ad been the gainer; And yet--could anythink be plainer?

One day a foreign merchant fleet Was anch.o.r.ed orf a British pier; The cargo, mostly Russian wheat, Designed for himportation 'ere; True to my principles, that night I blew it up with dynamite.

The jury was a set o' twelve Old fossils o' the Asquith school; The judge was one they ought to shelve; My counsel was a bloomin' fool; 'E talked o' my 'disordered brain,'

An' never mentioned Chamberlain!

So now they've sent me to a spot Congenial to my fiscal notions, Which, as I needn't say, is not The same as Devonsheer's or Goschen's.

But I'm not mad, I must insist: I'm merely a Protectionist!

THE TURNING TIDE

Jim 'Icks was a Tory, ten years back; An' 'e cheered at each Tory win.

An' 'e'd stand an' argue as white was black, For to 'elp them Tories in.

But times (an' parties) is changed since then, An' 'e's wishful to 'elp 'em out agen.

'Rat!' sez you? Maybe that's true.

Nor 'e ain't the only one As 'eard wot them Tories _said_ they'd do, An' as seed wot them Tories _done_; An' 'e don't feel noways bound, don't Jim, To blokes as 'as broke their word with 'im.

'E nursed 'is party a many a year, An' 'e swollered their party tricks.

Just draw up a cheer to the fire, an' 'ear Wot they promised the likes of 'Icks.

An' I'll tell you arterwards, if I can, Wot the Tories _done_ for the workin'-man.

Chamberlain, 'e was the fust to speak,-- An', o' course, 'e spoke c.o.c.ksure,-- Of a pension of 'arf a crown a week For the old, 'ard-workin' poor.

(An' many a cap was raised to Joe, When 'e made that promise, ten year ago.)

Balfour nex' to the 'ustings comes, With a scheme for to 'elp improve Them dwellin'-'ouses in crowded slums, Where there warn't no room to move.

(An' many a 'ope was kep' alive By the thought o' that promise o' '95.)

Then come a plan for to keep away Them furriners orf our sh.o.r.es; We 'asn't no use for the likes o' they, Wi' the crowds at our poor-'ouse doors.

(But our English workmen is still denied, An' our English waiters can wait--outside!)

Ten year ago, that were. To-day Such schemes is a trifle flat.

'Twas Election-time, as I needn't say, When they promised the likes o' that.

An' our Unemployed in their thousands swarm, An' our Poor Law waits for the pledged Reform.

Ten year ago, that were; an' yet We're a-watchin', with 'opeless eye, Our slum-choked women-folk starve an' sweat, An' our stunted children die.

An' late an' early, early an' late, The old men waits at the work'us gate.

I wouldn't be 'ard on them Tory chaps-- No doubt as they done their best; But I can't 'elp thinkin' some'ow, per'aps, They'd be none the worst of a rest.

That 'undred majority makes 'em slow, Let alone all the trouble they've 'ad with Joe.

It's easy to sneer when you once begins, An' it's easy to badger an' blame; When the 'ins' is 'outs,' and the 'outs' is 'ins,'

Very like they'll be just the same!