Beethoven's fame is rendered transitory;
And Titian cloys beside your clever all-
-egory. We hailed you Admiral: your eagle sight
Foresaw Her Majesty's benign intentions;
A uniform was ready of the right
Dimensions. Your wardrobe shines with all the shapes and shades,
That genius can fix in fancy suitings;
For _levées_, false alarums, full parades
And shootings. But save the habit marks the man of gore
Your spurs are yet to win, my callow Kaiser!
Of fighting in the field you know no more
Than I, Sir! When Grandpapa was thanking God with hymns
For gallant Frenchmen dying in the ditches,
Your nurse had barely braced your little limbs
In breeches. And doubtless, where he roosts beside his bock,
The Game Old Bird that played the leading fiddle
Smiles grimly as he hears your perky cock-
-a-diddle. Be well advised, my youthful friend, abjure
These tricks that smack of Cleon and the tanners;
And let the Dutch instruct a German Boor
In manners. Nor were you meant to solve the nations' knots,
Or be the Earth's Protector, willy-nilly;
You only make yourself and royal Pots-
-dam silly. Our racing yachts are not at present dressed
In bravery of bunting to amuse you,
Nor can the licence of an honoured guest
Excuse you. But if your words are more than wanton play
And you would like to meet the old sea-rover,
Name any course from Delagoa Bay
To Dover. Meanwhile observe a proper reticence;
We ask no more; there never was a rumour
Of asking Hohenzollerns for a sense
Of humour!
XII. FROM THE LORD OF POTSDAM.
We, William, Kaiser, planted on Our throne
By heaven's grace, but chiefly by Our own,
Do deign to speak. Then let the earth be dumb,
And other nations cease their senseless hum!
Seldom, if ever, does a chance arise
For Us to pose before Our people's eyes;

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