Peace-at-Any-Price Men

You Seven Wise Men of Gotham, who could vcte
That England in your bowl must sink or float,
You sorely need a Tonic of Cold Steel,
Who to the Beasts of Prey for Peace would kneel!
Malingerers who can basely maim the might
Of Manhood, and would rather die than fight.
The fear, for Self, makes Cowards, for others,

bold:
And love of Country's sapped by lust of Gold.

You, poor white-livered bastards of our race
To rouse some English colour in your face,
Must you on either coward cheek be smitten,
Or have the blood fetched back to them flea-bitten?
Gnash your pale lips for shame! and let the bite
For a moment hide the coward out of sight.
Alas! nor bite would bring, nor blow could start,
True English blood where there is none at heart.

But, we are Peacenien, also; crying for
Peace, peace, at any price — though it be War!
We must live free, at peace, or each man dies
With death-clutch fast for ever on the prize.