Cyclist (taking initiative on being caught without a light.) "Douse your glim, mate; we'll be having them Zeppelins all over us."
Belgian soldiers, martial heroes, in a world of fire and flame,
By their fortitude and daring have achieved immortal fame,
But there's one, a more civilian, who a vates sacer lacks—
Burgomaster Max!
Therefore let a sorry rhymer offer you his humble meed,
And salute your priceless service to your country in her need,
All unarmed yet undefeated, never turning in your tracks—
Burgomaster Max!
Athanasius contra mundum—you remind us of the tag,
You whose fearless manifestoes never brooked the German gag;
Bucking up your fellow-townsmen when their hearts were weak as wax—
Burgomaster Max!
Now, alas! we read the foemen have decided to deport
And intern you for a season in some dismal German fort,
For your presence was distasteful to the Hun who sacks and "hacks"—
Burgomaster Max!
Yet, whatever fate befalls you, as the ages onward roll
You will live in deathless lustre on your country's Golden Roll,
For you faced the German bullies with the stiffest of stiff backs—
Burgomaster Max!
There are German financiers who now allude to him as "Dishonoured Bill."
Ponto in town is strictly comme il faut,
A member of the most exclusive set
(His pedigree and dwelling all may know
Who read page 90 in the "Dogs' Debrett").
His mien is dignified, his gait is slow;
If upstart strangers try to catch his eye
He kicks the dust behind with scornful toe,
Averts his lifted nose and passes by.
His friends he greets with careful etiquette,
Permits his well-poised tail-tip to vibrate,
Then treads with them the solemn minuet
That antique custom and good form dictate.
But Ponto by the sea! ah, who would know
This damp wild ragamuffin on the strand
Who importunes the passers-by to throw
Big stones across the opal-shining sand?
Ponto dishevelled, ears turned inside out,
Has suffered some sea change; his social worth
Is all forgot; he leads a Comus rout,
Tykes of the shore and curs of lowly birth.
Yelping with joy he brings his wolfish pack
About my legs, as, dripping from the sea,
I pick my way thro' shingle and wet wrack
Beleaguered by this bandit company.
But when the day comes round to leave the shore
Ponto puts off this maniac Mr. Hyde;
Becomes a Dr. Jekyll dog once more
And homeward goes serene and dignified.
