The Public Interest

When rivals in the Party fray,
Their sluggish blood unwarmed,
An old-world courtesy display
('My honourable friend,' they say,
'Is surely misinformed?')
Such feeble methods I despise,
My principles are higher;
Opponents I apostrophise
With piercing and persistent cries
Of 'Renegade!' or 'Liar!'
For I can hear, above the din,
A voice within my breast
That bids me use such language, in
The public interest.

Some golfers, when they miss a putt,
Look mortified or frown,
Keeping their lips discreetly shut,
They say 'Good gracious!' or 'Tut-tut,
'That makes me seven down!'
Such self-control is hard to bear,
I loathe their sickly phrases,
And much prefer, to clear the air,
An honest 'Blast!' or 'Blazes!'
Explaining, if the caddies grin
Or partners should protest,
That I am simply swearing, in
The public interest!

When ladies whom I chance to meet
In crowded Tube or tram
Attempt to oust me from my seat
Or tread upon my tender feet,
I always murmur 'Damn!'
And when upon the telephone,
'Exchange' remarks, 'Line's busy!'
My choice of language, and its tone,
Makes hardened operators groan
And supervisors dizzy.
For I maintain, through thick and thin,
Discourtesy is best,
So long as you display it in
The public interest!