The Iron Hand

'The Government of India has been pleased to sanction the infliction of a fine of ..., etc.'     To him that reads with careless eyes     My present theme affords     But little scope for enterprise     In buttering one's lords:     Fines, he would urge, have always bulked     Largely to Those that rule,     For, plainly, every man They mulct     Contributes to the pool.     But when in ages dead and gone     Our fathers fought with Sin,     However hard they laid it on,     They didn't rub it in;     While These not only bring to bear     Their dark prerogatives,     But diabolically air     The pleasure that it gives!     Here is the Iron Hand that builds     Our realms beyond the sea;     No suaviter in modo gilds     Their fortiter in re;     Here is no washy velvet glove     To pad the Fist of Fear -     None of your guiding charms of Love -     None of your hogwash here!     No. From Their thrones amid the stars     They glower athwart the land     Implacable, with 'eye like Mars     To threaten and command.'     Too cold, too truculent, to stay     The awful bolt They fling,     They make no bones about it - They     Are pleased to do this thing!     Blind to the victim's mask of woe,     Deaf to his poignant howls,     No pity stirs Their bosoms, no     Reluctance wrings Their bow'ls!     By prompt and ready cash alone     Their wrath shall be appeased     Who pile it on like gods, and own,     Like men, to being pleased.