Page:Rudyard Kipling's verse - Inclusive Edition 1885-1918.djvu/100

82 You hold to half a hundred Shibboleths.

I'm old. I followed Power to the last,

Gave her my best, and Power followed Me.

It's worth it—on my soul I'm speaking plain,

Here by the claret glasses!—worth it all.

I gave—no matter what I gave—I win.

I know I win. Mine's work, good work that lives!

A country twice the size of France—the North

Safeguarded. That's my record: sink the rest

And better if you can. The Rains may serve,

Rupees may rise—three pence will give you Fame—

It's rash to hope for sixpence ... If they rise

Get guns, more guns, and lift the salt-tax. Oh!

I told you what the Congress meant or thought?

I'll answer nothing. Half a year will prove

The full extent of time and thought you'll spare

To Congress. Ask a Lady Doctor once

How little Begums see the light—deduce

Thence how the True Reformer's child is born.

It's interesting, curious ... and vile.

I told the Turk he was a gentleman.

I told the Russian that his Tatar veins

Bled pure Parisian ichor; and he purred.

The Congress doesn't purr. I think it swears.

You're young—you'll swear too ere you've reached the end.

The End! God help you, if there be a God.

(There must be one to startle Gl-dst-ne's soul

In that new land where all the wires are cut,

And Cr-ss snores anthems on the asphodel.)

God help you! And I'd help you if I could,

But that's beyond me. Yes, your speech was crude.

Sound claret after olives—yours and mine;

But Medoc slips into vi ordinaire.

{I'll drink my first at Genoa to your health)

Raise it to Hock. You'll never catch my style.

And, after all, the middle-classes grip

The middle-class—for Brompton talk Earl's Court.