Times changed. The old War Office warren was scrapped, And this suitable site was selected By motorists, goggled, befurred, and peak-capped, As a central position excessively apt For the Palace of Fun they erected. In place of old quiet Came racket and riot, As cars at the club kept arriving, Or p'licemen in torrents Poured in, to serve warrants On members for 'furious driving'; Where amateur chauffeurs, resolved to be jolly, Were drowning dull care in a 'Petrol and Polly'! For those who enjoy fellow-men in the bunch This is really a fine place of meeting; For here in a crowd men may guzzle and munch (Though the orchestra makes such a noise while they lunch That the members can't hear themselves eating). Here thousands forgather, To feed and to blather-- Each day brings a fresh reinforcement-- And tell (with a dry sense Of fun) how their licence Got marked with its latest endorsement, Or how many yokels and dogs they ran over The day that they fractured the 'record' to Dover! CANTO VI BROOKS'S How soft those whiskered waiters tread, Their dishes dexterously handing! 'Twould seem (as some one aptly said) As though a nobleman lay dead Upon an upper landing, In such tranquillity and quiet Do members masticate their diet! Yes, here is peace, that 'perfect peace,' With loved ones safely at a distance, Which men demand who seek release From cares that cause the brow to crease And poison the existence; Peace, comatose--nay, cataleptic-- Dear to the dotard and dyspeptic! [Illustration] The special feature of the place Is that it has no special feature; Its tone is that of frigid grace With which the Briton loves to face Each human fellow-creature. Here sire meets son, or brother brother, And neither need address the other! Within this dignified retreat, From Government or Opposition, The Whigs of all opinions meet, Eyeing each other, as they eat, With looks of dumb suspicion. Here Unionist regards Home Ruler With feelings daily growing cooler. Through Brooks's battered ballot-box His way to fame a man may well win, Who sits where Sheridan and Fox Discoursed of dice or fighting-cocks With Wilberforce and Selwyn; Where modern wits and legislators Converse with no one but the waiters! CANTO VII 'THE BEEFSTEAK' While Germans eat flesh that is said to be equine, And Chinamen batten on birds' nests and dogs, While Frenchmen with _vin ordinaire_ (such a weak wine!) Ingurgitate molluscs and frogs, The Briton, old-fashioned, in language empassioned, On underdone oxen demands to be fed; His soul seems to glory in steaks that are gory, He 'looks on the kine when they're red,' And all his carnivorous cravings awake When somebody happens to name 'The Beefsteak.'