Edith Cavell and Maggie

“Come out with it, Mickey, and tell us What happened when Maggie McGee Donated her tongue to Von Bissing— Come Mickey, we’re waiting on ye.”

And is it meself ye are teasing? Me, puffing a snipe and no light?— Me wind-pipe’s that dry,—I’m a desert; I’ll bark it, not spake, if I try it.—

Well then—gloog-loog-loog! I feel better— And now,—poof, poof, poof—a grand stogie; So kind are ye, I will endayvour To show up Von Bissing.—That rogue! he

Had already signed the death-warrant Of Edith Cavell, when a sly Ould fox of a German said, “Maggie For helping Miss Edith should die.”

And troth was it so? She had helped me, And others, to fade from their clutches;— No matter,—to murther a good nurse Is nobody’s right but the Deutches.

They slaughtered Miss Cavell that same night.— Von Bissing the next morning gave To each of his henchmen a tin cross— A sooveneer, “fit for the brave.”

And while that ould mummy still felt good, He sent for sweet Maggie McGee, Determined to make her confess all, Before he would let her go free.

“So Meggie,” said he, “Yust inform me How you und Miss Kevell us fool; A child you was, so I not hurt you— So young, yet, und yust out of school.”

Then Maggie looked daggers and scorned him; “Is it me, ye would like to cajole? A serpent ye are, I advise you, Go wriggle away to your hole.”

A big-fisted soldier then caught her, And, shaking her, hissed in her ear, “How dare you insult, yet, his highness? Good reason I gif you to fear.”

A classic performance that started:— As when the wild-cat, in attack, Encounters a wolf:—Her eyes blazing, She crouches—she arches her back—

And, swift as a ball to the wicket, Leaps straight at the neck of her foe;— She yells, and she scratches and bites him, Escapes his great teeth, till a blow

Of her claws rips a gash in his white throat;— So, Maggie, her eyes in a blaze, Dug deep with the nails of her fingers Red lines on the German’s face:

She grabbed at his hair with her two hands, Jerked out a big hank by the roots; And biting and scratching and yelling, Kicked out with her French-heeled boots.

Compared with that little she-tiger, That mountain of strength was no use; A map of ould Ireland his face was, When she had repaid his abuse.

That over, she threw at ould Bissing A bottle or two of his beer; Books, papers and weights, swords, pistols, Just anything handy or near;

Kicked over the chairs, broke a mirrour, And screeching and yelling blue murther, Began to tear off a few garments— Old Bissing afraid of,—what further?

Ran out of the room in a panic, And managed to call, in his fright, An army or so, “to the rescue,” Who thinking a turrible fight,—

Perhaps a surprise—came a-running To rescue that cold-blooded Nero; By which, I’ll record to the whole world, They certainly saved a great hero.

By cannons, guns, sabres and brave deeds, They captured sweet Maggie McGee— Great glory they won—I have heard tell The mix-up was awful to see.

A danger she was to their Impire, They had to confine her in jail;— The logical Baron Von Bissing Wrote William a luminous tale.—

So back comes a note from Got-William Promoting that vigilant boss, And tons of ould junk in small pieces, Profaning the shape of the cross.

Now, everything ready for Maggie, Ould Bissing made up a report To fool the dense world with a story, How Maggie was tried in fair court;

But while he was scheming that wild tale, The world gave a palpable hint About the sly murther of women By Kaisers conceited of flint.

That hard was the hint it would break through The hide of a rhinoceros; Small doubt of it, since the Got-Kaiser, To prove that he loved the Red Cross,

Gave orders to pardon all nurses, By which the blame went to Von Bissing, The glory, as always, to William Whom Satan not long will be missing.

And just for that reason sweet Maggie Remained there, a Red Cross Nurse; And she it was saved our brave Phelim— Thank Heaven! it might have been worse.