Young England. by Horace Smith — Stanza

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Young England.

by Horace Smith

The times still "grow to something strange";

We rap and turn the tables;

We fire our guns at awful range;

We lay Atlantic cables;

We bore the hills, we bridge the seas--

To me 'tis better far

To sit before my fire at ease,

And smoke a mild cigar.

We start gigantic bubble schemes,--

Whoever can invent 'em!--

How splendid the prospectus seems,

With int'rest cent. per centum

His shares the holder, startled, sees

At eighty below par:

I dawdle to my club at ease,

And light a mild cigar.

We pickle peas, we lock up sound,

We bottle electricity;

We run our railways underground,

Our trams above in this city

We fly balloons in calm or breeze,

And tumble from the car;

I wander down Pall Mall at ease,

And smoke a mild cigar.

Some strive to get a post or place,

Or entree to society;

Or after wealth or pleasure race,

Or any notoriety;

Or snatch at titles or degrees,

At ribbon, cross, or star:

I elevate my limbs at ease,

And smoke a mild cigar.

Some people strive for manhood right

With riots or orations;

For anti-vaccination fight,

Or temperance demonstrations:

I gently smile at things like these,

And, 'mid the clash and jar,

I sit in my arm-chair at ease,

And smoke a mild cigar.

They say young ladies all demand

A smart barouche and pair,

Two flunkies at the door to stand,

A mansion in May Fair:

I can't afford such things as these,

I hold it safer far

To sip my claret at my ease,

And smoke a mild cigar.

It may be proper one should take

One's place in the creation;

It may be very right to make

A choice of some vocation;

With such remarks one quite agrees,

So sensible they are:

I much prefer to take my ease,

And smoke a mild cigar.

They say our morals are so so,

Religion still more hollow;

And where the upper classes go,

The lower always follow;

That honour lost with grace and ease

Your fortunes will not mar:

That's not so well; but, if you please,

We'll light a fresh cigar.

Rank heresy is fresh and green,

E'en womenkind have caught it;

They say the Bible doesn't mean

What people always thought it;

That miracles are what you please,

Or nature's order mar:

I read the last review at ease,

And smoke a mild cigar.

Some folks who make a fearful fuss,

In eighteen ninety-seven,

Say, heaven will either come to us,

Or we shall go to heaven;

They settle it just as they please;

But, though it mayn't be far,

At any rate there's time with ease

To light a fresh cigar.

It may be there is something true;

It may be one might find it;

It may be, if one looked life through,

That something lies behind it;

It may be, p'raps, for aught one sees,

The things that may be, are:

I'm growing serious--if you please

We'll light a fresh cigar.