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To Sir William Harcourt

by Thomas William Hodgson Crosland

My dear Sir William Harcourt, -

(I have not time to get up your other distinguished names,

So that you must please excuse the plain Sir William),

My dear Sir William, do you ever survey the Liberal party,

From China to Peru,

And from Rosebery to Lloyd-George as it were?

Do you, my dear Sir William? O do you?

I do sometimes.

I do, Sir William, I do indeed.

O, I do!

And what is the conclusion I come to, my dear Sir William,

Ah, what?

O, what?

What, what, what, what, what, what, what, what, what?

Shall I tell you, my dear Sir William?

You are sure you won't be offended if I do?

And it will be strictly between ourselves, now, won't it?

Well then, come hither, coz,

Put your sweet hand in mine and trust in me,

And do not construe my kindness into cruelty;

Harken, my dear Sir William, harken,

Harken, harken, harken, harken har - - court: -

The Liberal party is an unweeded garden

Choked with a myriad strange growths,

And a sad, fierce, baffled, careless-ordered thing to look upon,

And in its midst there sits down perennially

A huge and ponderous and unwieldy ruminant,

Whom, merely for the sake of talking, my dear Sir William,

We will call the Harcourt.

Here, when it is not at its lordly pleasure-house,

Which men call Malwood,

The Harcourt, as I say, sits down.

Goodman Bannerman cometh to his Liberal Garden

To gather him a posy and do a little weeding;

The Harcourt is there heavily chewing the cud,

And it takes the heart out of goodman Bannerman

To behold him.

Goodman Asquith had fain pick a bit of dinner in the precincts;

The Harcourt watcheth him with rolling eye,

And goodman Asquith shivereth.

And by and by cometh the simple, rural Rosebery,

Armed cap-'-pie with a muck-fork;

Being rural he understands gardening;

He looks over the wall and sayeth,

"Gadzooks, when folk tell me that I am the man to put this garden to rights

They speak a mortal deal o' truth.

I will e'en go in and delve a bit."

And then he beholdeth the Harcourt

Luxuriating with his back against the biggest fig tree,

And he sayeth "No;

That powerful big animal be there still,

And I know'un, I do, I know'un!"

And who shall blame him?

What jobbing gardener of any self-respect

Would undertake to do up my genariums and fuchers

If I had a wild rhinoceros gambolling upon them

Day in and day out?

I should have great difficulty

In finding such a jobbing gardener, my dear Sir William;

And, to come at once to the plain poetry so belov'd of this age,

Let me tell you, my dear Sir William,

That, in my opinion, you (and no other) are at the present juncture

The real trouble and incubus of the party you love.

If you would only go home and crown yourself with a laurel or two,

And read history books, and take tea with bishops

And not come back again,

I believe the Liberal party

Would begin to get along like a house afire.

Will you not try it, my dear Sir William; oh, will you not try it?

For who would fardels bear and flounder round,

When he might sit with Lulu on the lawn

And leave his party for his party's good?