I've 'ad a quarrel with 'Enery Slade,
'Oo keeps our only village inn;
'E said as 'is shoes was badly made,
An' I said as 'is 'alf-an'-'alf was thin.
'No more o' your boots I'll buy,' sez 'e,
'An' no more o' your beer,' sez I, 'for me!'

Nex' time as 'is shoes was out o' repair,
'E took 'em to Lunnon, 'Enery did;
An' wot wi' the bill an' the railway fare,
Why, it cost 'im werry near 'alf a quid.
If 'e'd stayed at 'ome an' give me the job,

'E wouldn't 'a paid but a couple o' bob!
Now, tinkering boots is a thirsty trade,
Which them as 'as tried it won't deny,
But I wouldn't get beer orf o' 'Enery Slade,
An' there wasn't no other's as I could buy;
An' so, for a month very near, I think,
I was starving a'most for the lack of a drink.

But at last to a comperimize we come,
An' 'e said as my boots was right enough,
An' I told 'im – arter I'd tasted some —
As 'is beer wasn't really 'alf bad stuff;
So we both shakes 'ands on the village green,
An' we seed what a couple o' fools we'd been.

But there wasn't no good come out o' the fight,
An' we're both worse off than we was before;
Tho' I sits in 'is private bar of a night,
An' 'e gives me 'is shoes to mend once more;
For Slade's lost 'is temper, an' eight bob clear,
An' I'll never catch up wi' that three weeks' beer!

Now if England quarrels with Roosia, say,
Or them aggrannoying United States,
She can tax their imports, an' make 'em pay
More 'eavier dooties an' 'igher rates;
But suppose as we taxes the goods they sell,
It's likely as they'll tax ours as well.

An' o' manufactured goods, an' such,
We're sendin' three times as much as they;
So I can't see as 'ow we'll be gaining much,
With a three times 'eavier tax to pay.
(It's a game as two can play, you see,
An' they'll be a-suffering less than we!)

For the balance o' goods as they sells to us
Is the corn, an' the grain, an' the foods we eat;
An' it's likely the working class 'll cuss
If we levies a tax on the furrin wheat,
Which 'll merely fall on the poor man's 'ead,
By a-raising the price of 'is loaf o' bread.

This Retaliation's a tom-fool game;
If we taxes the furriner's barley 'ere,
We shall only be 'aving ourselves to blame
When we 'as to pay more for our dinner-beer!
Free Food is the best for British Trade,
– An' for you, an' for me, an' for 'Enery Slade!

THE COLONIES

I've been 'earing, round the pubs,
As the British Lion's cubs
Is a gettin' out of 'and, and stubborn-'earted;
For the Colonies, they say,
Is a driftin' right away,
From the Motherland wot seed 'em safely started.
But it's only Little Englanders, Protectionists, an' such,
Keeps a-'owling an' a-crying as the Empire's 'out o' touch.'

There was Canada, I know;
Kipling said as she 'ad snow,
Which (o' course) was met with angry contradictions;
Then Haustralia come next,
An' one Guv'nor found a text
To remind 'em of their ancestors' convictions.
It's unfortunit, but still we must admit it for a fact,
As we Englishmen is hev'rvwhere notorious for tact.

But wotever folks may shout
An' make grievances about,
There's uncommon little grounds as they can go on;
For the strength o' Hempire lies
More in sentimental ties
Than in any 'business interests' an' so on;
An' there's feelings of affection an' o' kindness as is worth
Twice as much as all them there 'commercial interests' on earth.

An' our Colonies 'll stand
By the good ole Motherland,
Tho' she may per'aps at times be rather trying;
For they knows as well as we
That there's nowheres 'alf so free
As them countries where the British flag's a-flying.
An' with kindly eyes they looks acrost (wot poets calls) the foam
To that distant little island as they still considers ''ome.'

An' they'll stick, if they are wise,
To them sentimental ties —
Never mind if they can't value 'em in dollars;
For they're independent blokes,
An' they wouldn't stand no yokes,
Nor they doesn't 'old with wearin' chains an' collars.
(Even dawgs an' such 'll love you more, I've not the slightest doubt,
If you turns 'em loose, an' keeps 'em free, an' lets 'em run about.)

If them Colonies did drift,
For theirselves they'd 'ave to shift —
It's a case o' 'stand alone' or 'annexation';
Tho' their lads is sterling stuff,
Still, they're 'ardly big enough
For to 'old their own agin' some furrin nation;
An' their armies o' militia-men is hexcellent – but small,
While o' navies to defend their coasts they 'asn't none at all!

Yes, they knows, as well as we,
As it's Hengland rules the sea, —
(Tho' per'aps it ain't for me to go and say it!) —
An' it's Henglishmen as pays
For the Navy, nowadays, —
(Any'ow it ain't Canadians as pay it!) —
So they gives to us the priv'lege of defendin' of 'em 'ere,
If we lets 'em run their own concerns an' doesn't interfere.

We've a market, as they knows,
For the produce wot they grows,
Which commercially's a quite sufficient fetter;
An' so long as they can trade
At the present prices paid,
Why, they don't want nothink easier nor better.
An' a preference won't make 'em no more loyal than before,
For they've proved their bloomin' loyalty a 'undred times and more.

If we likes to pay 'em 'igh
For their foodstuffs as we buy,
Well, it's natural as 'ow they must applaud it;
But they wants no preference
At the Motherland's expense,
If she ain't in no position to afford it;
An' they knows, as well as we do, 'ow that any bounties paid
Must be 'ard on British workin'-men, an' bad for British trade.

For they showed us, in the war,
They was loyal to the core,
An' they're ready for to 'elp us when we flounders;
An' tho' 'ere and there, per'aps,
There's some discontented chaps,
As 'll grumble, like them there Alaskan Bounders;
Still, they're British to the backbone when the dawgs o' war is loosed,
An' they'll stick by Mother England till the cows comes 'ome to roost!