Then suddenly, of course at night, There came a sudden splashing, And I, in most unequal fight, About my bedroom dashing, With sheets and towels tried to wipe, Or check, the flood from that vile pipe. You would not say that frost is fine, So exquisitely bracing, If you had had a pipe like mine, Your ruined home defacing; On carpet, stain; on paper, stripe;-- Oh, blow that beastly water-pipe! * * * * * SONG OF THE PEACE TERMS (SUNG TO CHINA).--"Oh, Let us be Jappy together!" * * * * * [Illustration: PARLIAMENTARY "LIBERTY MEN" COMING ABOARD AFTER TEN DAYS' LEAVE.] * * * * * A SONG OF SPRING. Oh, painters, you who always "come Before the swallow dares, and take The winds of March"--till May--with some Atrocious smell of paint, and make The streets in such a shocking state, you Are quite a nuisance--how I hate you! How can I wear in peace a neat, Silk hat, and coat of decent black, When, passing you in any street, Your paint may tumble on my back, Or I may smash, which might be sadder, My hat against your sloping ladder? How can the spring delight my mind, How can I like the budding trees, The butterflies of any kind? A Painted Lady could not please In any way the mental man, Were I a painted gentleman. How can I like the balmy air, How dream of violets in bloom, When paint-pots swing aloft and scare With visions of impending doom? I'm mad and hot--quite crimson madder-- With dodging each successive ladder. * * * * * TO A BANTLING. (_Lines written to a Lady who "Banted."_) Some rhymes to make you laugh? I can't Drop, Wegg-like, into rhyme instanter. It's easiness itself to bant, Comparatively hard to banter. The many pretty things I'd say, The pleasant thoughts I'd like to utter, I may not do, it seems to-day-- You scorn the bare idea of _butter!_ "Sweets to the sweet." Not long ago, Why chocolates--you'd gladly greet them. Now you've abandoned them, and so You never (hardly ever) eat them. To see you drink hot water--that The very stoniest heart would soften, You evidently think it flat, You're in it--aren't you--much too often? Yet whether 9st. 12, as when You weighed that day at Margate Station, Or 10st. 7, or 7st. 10, _I_ can't pretend to indignation. To bant from early morn till late May be, of course, supremely right of you; But if you feel oppressed by weight, Would it not do if we made light of you? Though that I swear I will not do, Let others, if they like, make bold to-- I merely write these rhymes for you, I _always_ do just what I'm told to! But if you cease to peak and pine (For Time the Banting Conscience hardens), You will not fail to drop a line-- My chambers are in Temple Gardens.