Lapsus Calami (Apr 1891)/Of Lord B.

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Lapsus Calami
by J.K.S.
Sincere Flattery of Lord B.
1788912Lapsus Calami — Sincere Flattery of Lord B.J.K.S.

VI. Of Lord B.

A Grievance.

Dear Mr Editor: I wish to say—
If you will not be angry at my writing it—
But I've been used, since childhood's happy day,
When I have thought of something, to inditing it:
I seldom think of things: and, by the way,
Although this metre may not be exciting, it
Enables one to be extremely terse,
Which is not what one always is in verse.

I used to know a man,—such things befall
The observant wayfarer through Fate's domain:
He was a man, take him for all in all,
We shall not look upon his like again:
I know that statement's not original:
What statement is, since Shakspere? or, since Cain,
What murder? I believe 'twas Shakspere said it, or
Perhaps it may have been your Fighting Editor.

Though why an Editor should fight, or why
A Fighter should abase himself to edit,
Are problems far too difficult and high
For me to solve with any sort of credit:
Some greatly more accomplished man than I
Must tackle them: let's say then Shakspere said it:
And, if he did not, Lewis Morris may
(Or even if he did). Some other day,

When I have nothing pressing to impart,
I should not mind dilating on this matter:
I feel its import both in head and heart,
And always did,—especially the latter:
I could discuss it in the busy mart
Or on the lonely housetop: hold! this chatter
Diverts me from my purpose. To the point:
The time, as Hamlet said, is out of joint,

And I perhaps was born to set it right;
A fact I greet with perfect equanimity;
I do not put it down to "cursed spite":
I don't see any cause for cursing in it: I
Have always taken very great delight
In such pursuits since first I read divinity:
Whoever will may write a nation's songs
As long as I'm allowed to right its wrongs.

What's Eton but a nursery of wrong-righters,
A mighty mother of effective men,
A training-ground for amateur reciters,
A sharpener of the sword as of the pen,
A factory of orators and fighters,
A forcing-house of genius? Now and then,
The world at large shrinks back, abashed and beaten,
Unable to endure the glare of Eton.

I think I said I knew a man: what then?
I don't suppose such knowledge is forbid:
We nearly all do, more or less, know men,—
Or think we do: nor will a man get rid
Of that delusion, while he wields a pen:
But who this man was, what, if aught, he did,
Nor why I mentioned him, I do not know:
Nor what I "wished to say" a while ago.

The Parachute, Eton. July 30, 1889.