The above lines appeared in large type, and a prominent position, in the _Times_ of Thursday, April 23rd, 1885. Many persons thought a hoax had been played on the _Times_, refusing to believe that such a dismal appeal ad _captandum vulgus_ could have been penned by the Poet Laureate. Although it is true that all his recent productions have given signs of failing powers, both intellectual and poetical, nothing yet has been published so damaging as this to the reputation of the author of “The Idylls of the King.” It is, indeed, greatly to be regretted that he has no sincere and discriminating friend who could kindly, but firmly, dissuade him from the publication of such lines, which pain his friends, and give rise to endless satires at his expense. Journals representing all parties and every shade of opinion, at once set to work to ridicule _The Fleet_, and numerous parodies of it have already appeared, from which the following are selected:―― THE BARD. (On his reported imbecility.) You――you――_if_ you have failed to understand―― The bard of England is no bard at all―― And but a thumb on great St. Jingo’s hand. See lines of his that sprawl Across the _Times_ so great. That bard, the mightiest bard on all the earth, That one great bard is very much at sea; Poor England, what would poetry be worth If thou could’st boast no wiser bards than he? A pitiable state. You――you――who wrote those verses indiscreet, If you have only covered so much space With lines as bad as these, or rather worse, Why then we’ll take your place, And not too soon――too soon. _The Weekly Echo_, April 25, 1885. ――――:o:―――― A LAUREL. You――_you!_――and neither He nor She nor It, But _if_; if _but_, you fail to understand, Oh! shaker of this tiny English land, Eagle in war; in peace a mild tomtit―― That Runnymede and Ashmead are the same, And blood is after all your little game, And peace an endless heritage of shame! You――you――who watch the Baltic and the Belt, Commingling verses to the whale and smelt. Great Nelson’s heart would melt If he could read’em. For such a Hanwell Muse, The public’s myriad shoes Would kick themselves with freedom, You――you!――if but a single soul would heed’em. J. FOX TURNER. _The Manchester Examiner and Times._ ――――:o:―――― “WE WE” TO THE POET-LAUREATE. On reading a (surely!) misreported insufficiency called “The Fleet.” You――you!――we do not fail to understand―― You, Laureate, are not England’s all in all; On you is poured the laughter of the land For your wild Jingo call; Although you once were great.