"Shall I," he cried, "who made the Hun skedaddle
And caused the _Wacht an Rhein_ to lose its job,
Taught Johnny Turk the use of boot and saddle
And fetched out FERDINANDO for a blob--
Shall I allow each little grinning urchin
To move me from my purpose? Shall I shrink
For fear of idle Rumour wagging her chin?
No, no! I do _not_ think.
"My high emprise may set the suburbs hooting
And lay me under Balham's local curse;
There be--I know it--those in Upper Tooting
Would lynch the prophet and insult his hearse;
But when my feet have kicked this mortal bucket
Millions will bless me!--more I cannot ask;
So, John, distract me not! Jemima, chuck it!
And, Jane, bring forth the mask!"