The Books of To-day and the Books of To-morrow, June 1905


(The Vote of Censure—and the consequent brawlings in the House—have been postponed.)

THE fist that was doubled relaxes.
The flame disappears from the eye:
Hon. Members who’ve sharpened their axes
Are laying them down with a sigh:
No corpse is borne out on a shutter:
Peace reigns—to their bitter regret.
With sad disappointment they mutter,
‘Not yet. Not yet.’

The pistol’s replaced in the hand-bag.
The dagger lies snug in its sheath.
The Irish M.P. drops his sand-bag,
And pauses from grinding his teeth:
His lessons in boxing (from Driscoll)
Are useless. He’s feeling upset.
They’ve postponed the debate that is Fiscal.
Not yet. Not yet.

But courage! Come, don’t be downhearted.
Ere long the glad hour must arrive:
Soon, soon shall the battle be started,
And only the fittest survive.
May the scene in the House be as pleasant
As that other—the last time you met.
But hold yourselves in for the present:
Not yet. Not yet.



Printed unsigned; entered by Wodehouse in Money Received for Literary Work.