Now, we all go to war with bomb and gas
State against state, that's understood. Whereas
What no " man-of-the-world" will yet admit
Is that this recognized official fit
Of spleen is duplicated in whatever sense
Upon the private plane — that is nonsense!
In this fair world of " gentlemen's agreements",
A lawcourtly world, where for their fat fees fence
Scurrilous bravos, it would be a pure outrage
So much as to suggest small wars we wage —
With all that " war" takes with it of boycott and debt,
Of strategy, false news, spy-traps baited and set —
With for our poison-gas our septic breath,
And writs for bombs; honour in place of death!
All these hidalgos are the soul of honour,
And always in some way a munificent donor!
A man too poor his honour to defend
Is a dishonourable man unto the end.
This world of " gentlemen's agreements" none
Admits too poor to be a " gentleman".
And there are tags to go with this brave system —
The wisdom of the crow, if it be wisdom.
Collar a cutpurse, he'll say that you're " suspicious".
Retaliate upon a crook, why then you're " vicious".
Or call the smirking bluff of the pomp-monger
He spits out " cad"! He marks you down for hunger.
The world of " faux-bonhommes" is that of the fake " monsieurs",
And that of the cheapjacks that of the muzzled seers.