George Samuel, Marquis of Ripon, is sadly in need of a chit.
Chatterjees, Bannerjees, Mookerjees, rise ye and fashion it!
What did His Lordship do for the land that ye live in? Write,
This was his 'policy',—turmoil and babble and causeless strife.
Seeds of dissension to sprout when the sower's name is forgot:
Pedantry set on the throne, preaching the thing which is not.
What has he done for the land? Look ye. From North to South,
Have ye a nobler gift than the word of His Lordship's mouth?
Infinite torrent of speech—and he clamours in England yet;
Crying aloud to the East, lest the East forgive and forget.
Forgive him the lust for a name that led to his pitiful toil—
Forget what he sowed 'twixt the black and the white—the brawl and the broil.
He was 'greatest of all our rulers'. Are ye better thereby or worse?
Did he charm black want from your fields, or silver into your purse?
Did he sharpen the sword at the threshold that the house might be free from the foe?
Has he given you aught save words that ye worship His Lordship so?
Ay! Fittest of rulers was he for a loud-mouthed, cackling land.
For ye live by words where men live by the work of their head and their hand—
As He lived, and shall live, by words who has fashioned him ropes of sand.