Punch/Volume 147/Issue 3827/The Price of War
Now woe is me! My treasure, my delight, My guerdon after many toilsome days, Shall gladden me no more. It was a sight To bid men gape in wonderment, and praise My patient courage that endured despite The gibes of friends and Delia's pitying ways. Ah, cruel fate that forced my hand to snip Such cosily growth as graced my upper lip!
Moustache most cherished! Not as other men That let their lush growth riot as it will, With just a formal waxing now and then, Did I maintain it. Nay, with loving skill And all the precious oils within the ken Of cunning alchemists I strove until Its soaring points aspired to pierce the skies, And I was martial in my Delia's eyes.
Great store of gold I lavished. Yea, I went To one that works in metals and I bought A kind of dreadful iron instrument With leathern straps, most wonderfully wrought, And wore that horror nightly, well content To bear such anguish for the prize I sought. And all this patient toil was thrown away— They stoned me for the Kaiser yesterday!