I had a tooth, a rag-bag, an offence,
A splintered horror, an abiding woe,
And after shameful months of diffidence
I brought it to the dentist, saying, "Lo!
Here's a defaulter in my squad of fangs:
Deal with him, please, and spare me needless pangs."
"Ah yes," he said, and jammed that rubber thing
(Does your man use it?) round the guilty tooth,
And, having gagged me, started gossiping
About the Germans' disregard for truth.
"Did you observe," he asked, "that last report?"
"Urrup!" said I, or something of the sort.
"_How_ one admires our English troops!" said he,
"Such hardy chaps! (A leetle wider, please).
And isn't it a shameful thing to see
So many slackers lounging at their ease--
Young men who can and ought to go and serve?
Shirkers!" he added, gouging at a nerve.
Then he waxed wroth. "As for that Yarmouth job--
Why do such brutes exist, Sir? Tell me why!
They maim and mutilate, they burn and rob!
Kultur be blowed!" said he. ("Gug-gug!" said I).
"My word, I'd like to have a Uhlan now,
Here, in this chair!" "Woo-oosh!" I answered. "Ow!"
Thus for a dreadful hour he prattled on
And quarried, rooting in the sorest place.
Then he announced: "This tooth is too far gone;
Only extraction now can meet the case.
I'm sure you'd love to show your British pluck,
And here's your chance; some chaps have all the luck!"
Yes, he said that, and I could stand no more.
Crushed as I was and anguished and half-dead,
I wrenched his gag out, kicked it round the floor,
And threw the tattered remnant at his head;
And, seeking barbèd words, I found but one
That summed him up. "You are," I said, "a Hun!"
* * * * *