Frenchmen Froth

Frenchmen Froth

Though Frenchmen froth with furious sound
And fill our frousty mansions,
And gurgling uvulas are ground,
And tremblers pay ‘attention’;
Though History roll in dreary round
Colonial expansion,
And king and parliamentary hound,
And constitutional sanction,
This is my faith, I do maintain, until the stars shall fall, sir!
Let other lands be what they claim, is England best of all, sir!

In mathematics’ mouldering shed
Though tangled runes be written
By faces grave of men long dead
That worms have sorely bitten;
Though Greek and Latin in one bed
With sleeping-sickness ridden
Do dream of days when classics bled
A weary world unchidden,
This is my faith, I do maintain, until the stars shall fall, sir!
Of all the arts this hath my heart — the English tongue fore all, sir!

Though Education quack, quack, quack
And force upon our weasands
The nostrums from its nonsense pack
In endless silly seasons
Though tyrant force behind our back
Shall thrust us without reason
To halls that light and learning lack
Where teachers talk of treason,
This is my faith, I do maintain, until the stars shall fall, sir!
That fear and false report shall not make English fall, sir!

Though some will strip their stupid souls
(At least to the pyjamas),
Though sages green with puny polls
Write dismal little dramas;
Though critics jibber in their holes
Of style and form and metre,
Yet literature (the little moles!)
They miss her when meet her.
This is my faith, I do maintain, until the stars shall fall, sir!
They only earn the English name who learn the English tongue, sir!