The New Suit

Willie Fiddle D. D. boasted twenty-five years; He’d frittered his life quite away. He lisped in a manner which moved one to tears, And answered to all things, “I say!” He sported a monocle really de trop, And dined at Martin’s every night; He talked of the gossip about “so-and-so”, But “nevvah, ah nevvah,” talked “fight”. Now grandfather D. had a plethoric purse Which grandson would “touch” now and then; For Willie since leaving his fond, doting nurse Had not had real work in his ken. Now once on a time, after dinner, at nine, Which is really the time for a “touch,” Old granddad sat reading of terrible war, Whose horrors had troubled him much, When Willie broke in, twixt a lisp and a squirm, And plead for the price of a suit. The old man turned red, white and blue, each in turn, And out shot his big heavy boot “You want a new suit,” roared the old man, aflame, “You want a new suit, you young fright; Your country is calling for men; it’s a shame. Get out in the trenches and fight! Get out in the trenches and fight like a man Don’t stand there, you simp, like a mute. Take a fall to yourself, and fight if you can; Uncle Samuel will furnish a suit!”