To The Chancellor Of The Exchequer

    (Before his Retirement)

    My dear Sir Michael Hicks-Beach, -
    The devotion of one's life
    To the service of the Muses
    And the neglect of golden opportunities,
    Is not without its compensations,
    One of the chief of them being
    That the devotee can look into the eyes
    Of the most rapacious of Chancellors of the Exchequer
    And smile.
    For my own part, dear Sir Michael,
    By the writing of Odes,
    And general inattention to business,
    I am able to knock up a precarious one hundred and seventy-five pounds per annum;
    On one hundred and sixty pounds of that sum
    I am always careful to claim exemption,
    Which leaves a taxable balance of fifteen pounds.
    Out of this balance, my dear old friend, you are welcome to take fifteen shillings,
    Or twenty-three and fourpence ha'penny,
    Or twenty-seven and sixpence farthing,
    Or any other sum that you think might come in handy.
    Indeed, in all the circumstances
    (And without prejudice),
    I should not be greatly upset
    If you took the lot.
    For well I wot
    That the late War
    Has cost more than the price of a row of houses,
    And that it is my duty, as a full-blooded patriot,
    To pay, and pay cheerfully;
    And particularly so
    Since it is not due for a month or so.
    Ah, my dear Chancellor,
    Who fears Black Michael
    Must himself be black.
    They call you Black because you want a lot of money;
    I call them black because they've got it.
    However, this is not a Ruskinian oration,
    But an Ode,
    And I shall therefore proceed to give you a few tips
    As to legitimate methods of raising the wind.
    Judging by your recent efforts,
    You appear to be short of ideas.
    Here you are.
    Put sixpence a hundred on cigars.
    "See What You Save"
    Will see me through somehow;
    Besides, I never smoke cigars.
    Put a bit more on all sorts of wines and liqueurs,
    Excepting Sauterne and Benedictine
    (Of which I am particularly fond);
    Put a bit more on beer,
    And sixpence a pound on arsenic
    (As a rule I do not take either);
    Tax railway tickets
    (I invariably travel on "passes");
    Tax perambulators
    (My sons and heirs can all walk);
    Tax sky-signs
    (Like the Omar Khayyam Club,
    I never advertise);
    Tax bicycles
    (I abhor exertion);
    Tax gold and gem jewellery
    (I never keep it);
    Tax fiction
    And "Fourth enormous" editions
    (We shall then hear less about them)
    Abolish the free breakfast-table
    (I invariably begin the day with lunch);
    Also tax ground-rents
    (I am not the Duke of Bedford);
    And seize all the unclaimed bank balances
    (None of which by any possibility
    Can be mine).
    In fact, my dear Sir Michael,
    Tax and seize whatever you like.
    The opulent, and the well-to-do,
    Not to mention the rascally working classes,
    Will have to put up with it.