[The American Millionnaire has purchased Cliveden.]
RULE, BRITANNIA! 'Twas Cliveden's fair walls which first heard
That stout patriot strain--which may now sound absurd
"_Yankee Doodle_" indeed might more fittingly ring
"In Cliveden's proud alcove," which POPE stooped to sing.
O Picknickers muse; and, O oarsmen, repine!
Those fair hanging woods, BULL, no longer are thine.
Our high-mettled racers may pass o'er the sea--
Shall sentiment challenge _thy_ claims, L. S. D.?
Our pictures may go without serious plaint--
What are the best pictures but canvas and paint?
Our Press? Let the alien toff take his pick.
When the Dollar dictates shall mere patriots kick?
Our hills and our forests? If Oil-kings appear,
And want them--for cash--as preserves for their deer.
Down, down with mere pride--so they're down with the dust!
Mammon's word is the great categorical Must!
The Dollar's Almighty, the Millionnaire's King!
Sell, sell _anyone_ who'll bid _high--anything_.
What offers for--London? Who bids for--the Thames?
Cracks go, Cliveden follows. What Briton condemns?
Cash rules. For the Dollar-King BULL shies his castor.
Buy! Buy! That's the cry, JOHN. _Sic itur ad_--ASTOR!
* * * * *
BOOKED AT THE LYCEUM BOX-OFFICE.--Four nights a week _Becket_ is
given. Programme is varied on the other two nights. A simple gentleman
said to the Clerk at the Box-Office, "I want two stalls." _The Clerk._
"_For Becket?_" "No," returned the simple one; "for _me_."
* * * * *