Classic Poem

Eat the crust and drink the water, use the simple homely store,
Cup and crust refused to no man passing by Pagani's door.
None are turned back by Pagani: glance around the table here
You will see that even the basest are admitted to his cheer
All the lowliest, all the meanest of the lower class are there
Every poor man has a seat there and the bankrupt has the Chair
Let us sup with poor Pagani, fall into his simple ways
Bring me five bottles of claret; I would dream of other days.

All the old times come around us, we are girt with ancient rule
Children dancing on the green grass at that simple village school.
Masters haunt us: round our spirits there is circling, is there not?
All the infant glee of Lupton, all the rude strength of La Motte,
Yes, we hear their antique virtues echoing from forgotten domes,
Manly modesty of Cornish, baby merriment of Holmes
Is it Mr Walker yonder, hoary, just about to roar?
No, on closer observation, it is Waldo d'Avigdor
Is that Mr Barlow Gardiner—no, the features melt and alter
I'm deceived by a resemblance, it is Frederick Gurney Salter.

Are we really growing smaller, are we drinking tea again
No alas, let us put up with claret, burgundy, champagne,
Tell me, are there Eton collars sprouting above all our coats
On my hat-band are there growing three extraordinary goats,
Am I once again discussing all the old entanglements
Education, socialism, papers, pigs, advertisements
Whether fox-hunting is Christian, whether magazines do harm
Whether Kipling has a mission, whether Maidlow has a charm
Whether it is quite in order if a fluent speech and able
Is pronounced by Mr Fordham from beneath the dining table.
Whether Mr Langdon-Davies can be technically right
In addressing the Debaters with a head obscured from sight
What is our true constitution, if a club we really be
Or a mission, or a madhouse or a chartered Company.

Gone are all these ancient questions; o'er the presidential claim
Rise a newer race of tyrants whom I do not dare to name
Yea a newer race of rulers, higher stronger and more fair
Before whom your Chairman trembles, bows and quakes and combs his hair
Long I ruled you, o my children, guided every infant prayer.
Kept you in complete obedience, let no whisper stir the air,
Now I yield to newer rulers, ruling [over new] estates
Crash the thunder, blare the portent, for your Chairman abdicates.