To The True-Born Briton

(After Peace Night)         Dear Sir, or Madam,         As the case may be,         When Britain first,         At Heaving's command,         Arose from out         The azure main,         This was the chawter         Of that land         And gawdian a-a-a-a-angels         Sang this strain:         Don't you think so?         For my own part,         I am quite sure of it:         Monday night convinced me.         Mafeking night,         As you may remember,         Was a honeyed         And beautiful affair.         But         Peace night,         I think,         Really outdid it in splendours.         At the cafe         Which I most frequent,         All was Peace.         Round the table next mine,         There were seventeen Jews,         With a Union Jack.         Ever and anon         (Between drinks, as it were),         They held up         That Union Jack         And yelled:             "Shend him victoriouth,             'Appy and gloriouth,             Long to-o reign over uth,             &c., &c."         I wonder, my dear Sir, or Madam,         Why the Jews are so pleased:         I can't make it out.         Howsomever,         Pleased they are,         And a pleased Jew         Is worth a king's ransom,         Or words to that effect.         Peace, my dear Sir, or Madam,         Is a chaste and choice         Thing.         Outside the aforesaid cafe,         The crowd         Was so numerous         And exuberant         That I was compelled         (Much to my annoyance, of course)         To remain inside         Till closing-time.         Then I went home         In the friendly embrace         Of a four-wheeler.         For a little while,         There was much shouting and yelling and roaring and squeaking and singing;         And then I knew         No more.         My cab         Bowled away         Through the sweet evening air         (That is to say,         If the common or Regent Street growler         Ever does bowl away),         And all the time         I snored.         Duly awakened         Outside my bungalow,         I raked up the fare,         And, in reply to kind enquiries         In the hall,         I remarked:         "Peace, O woman of mine,         Peace!"