Mine dear Kaiser,--Dose tings vas a fake, Ven you shtart oop dat untersea show Und already a pardnership make Mit Von Tirpitz, Von Teufel and Co. Ven de try dis same game vonce pefore, Soon ve lose all dose subs dat ve had, Und dis time ve vill lose dem some more, For now even dose Yanks haf got mad. Some advice I vould give to you yet, (It vill shoost take a minute or two,) Call dose subs all in oudt of de vet, Dat's already de best ting to do. You may tink dat old Fritz is a fool, Und haf maype some axes to grind, But dose tings dat he learned oudt of school, Dey vill pring de improvement of mind. Since dat day I vas brisoner took, Und I hafn't got notting to do, Den I read all dose bapers und book, Und write maybe a letter or two, Dere's some tings I already find oudt Dat de Faderland bapers von't tell, How dose English, like leetle Hans Shtout, Haf de pussy cat pulled from de vell. All dose English must half deir own vay, Und so soon as deir foes dey vill shmash, Like Napoleon dey ship dem avay Or like Thebaw or Arabi Pash; So I tells you, mine Kaiser, bevare, Or you gets yourself soon in a fix, Saint Helena's old rock is still dere For de feller dat loses de tricks. FRITZ GOES FARMING May, 1918 Mine Katrina,--So long since I write, You vill tink I am dead maybe yet; If I never come back from dis fight, Den some udder old feller you get. Vell I tells you de reason, mine frau, Vy already mine letters vill shtop, Ven John Bull soon finds oudt I can plow Den he vant me to put in de crop. In de vorld if dere's not enough veat, For to make all de beeples some pread, Den de poor vill get notting to eat, Und dey all vill go britty soon dead, So John Bull some potatoes vill sow, Vere dose rabbits und pheasants haf stayed, Und de veat, oats und barley vill grow Vere de tennis und cricket vas blayed. To pe oudt on de land it seems good, Vere dose onions and cabbages grow, Vere de pigs fall ashleep in de mud Und de ducks in de vater vill go; But I vork so hard now efry day, Und I gets so beeg tired py night, To dose friends dat I luf far avay Den I hafn't no courage to write. I shoost vork, und I shleep, und I eat, So I hafn't much news for to send; You vould hear of de Sherman redreat, Vell I hopes dis beeg var vill soon end. All mine troubles I hardly can't bear, How is tings in de Faderland now? If ve lose yet, or vin, I don't care, So I only get back to mine frau. Yours ever. Fritz. INDEX TO WAR RHYMES Foreword Page Modern Diplomacy 5