"I know of no cure but for the Englishman (1) to do his best to
compete in the particulars where the German now excels; (2) to
try to show that, taken all round, he is worth more than the
German."
_Mr. Gladstone on English Clerks and German Competition._
All very fine, O orator illustrious!
But I as soon would be a Mole, or Merman,
As a short-grubbing, horribly industrious,
Linguistic German.
A Clerk's a Clerk, that is a cove who scribbles
All day, and then goes in for cue, and "jigger,"
And not a mere machine who feeds by nibbles,
Slaves like a nigger.
Learn languages? And for two quid a week?
Cut barmaids, billiards, bitter beer and betting?
Yah! that may suit a Sausage, or a sneak!
Whistles need wetting.
That is if they are genuine English whistles,
And not dry, hoarse, yah-yah Teutonic throttles.
_I_'m not a donkey who can thrive on thistles.
No, that's "no bottles."
I've learned my native tongue,--and that's a teaser--
I've also learned a lot of slang and patter;
But German, French, Italian, Portuguese, Sir,
For "screw" no fatter?
Not me, my old exuberant Wood-chopper!
Level _me_ to the straw-haired Carls and Hermanns?
No; there's another trick would do me proper,--
Kick out the Germans!
Old BISMARCK'S "Blood and Iron's" a receipt meant
For Sour-Kraut gobblers, sandy and sardonic;
But for us Britons that Teutonic treatment
Is much too tonic.
The cheek of 'em just puts me in a rage,
Send 'em back home, ah! even pay their passage!
Or soon, by Jove, we'll have to call our age,
The German "Sauce"-age!
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