_New (New Forest) Version._
[Mr. AUBERON HERBERT says "the rapacious and spendthrift" woodmen of
the Crown have recently felled two hundred oaks in the New Forest.]
Woodmen, spare those trees!
You're playing up rare jokes
In felling, at your ease,
Hundreds of British oaks.
We'd ax you stay your axe.
Come! no official rot!
Or _Punch_'s wrath may wax,
And then--you'll get it hot.
Those old familiar trees
Are glory and renown.
Don't think your business, _please_,
Is just to hew them down!
We _ask_ you, for the nonce.
If such appeal is vain,
We'll bid you, sharp, at once,
"Cut"--and _don't_ come again!
* * * * *
"GOOD SIR JOHN!"
(_To Sir John Gilbert, R.A., on his receiving the Freedom of the City._
_By an Old Boy._)
Good Black (and White) Knight,
Our youth's joint delight,
With that other Black Knight, dear Sir WALTER'S
(Whom you pictured well),
Ancient memories swell,
Till language, in praising you, falters.
You drew, with such dash,
_All_ our heroes; they flash
On our memories. Ah, we thanked _you_ so
For Dons, Rosinantes,
And Sanchos (CERVANTES!)
"Leather-Stocking," and Robinson Crusoe.
Our fancies still carry
Your (SHAKSPEARE'S) King Harry,
We know our own boyhood's sound slumbers
Were haunted by Pucks,
Robin Hoods, Friar Tucks,
And scenes from your brave Christmas Numbers.
God bless you, Sir JOHN,
For your Knight and your Don,
Who moved our youth's fervour and pity!
Sure every Old Boy
Hopes you long may enjoy
The freedom (and health) of our City!
* * * * *