Punch/Volume 147/Issue 3819/Super-Sympathy
"The crumbling towers, the shattered fanes,
The havoc of the Belgian plains;
Dead mothers, children, priests and nuns,
Who fall before My conquering Huns—
Believe Me, friends, these grievous woes
Deprive Me of My due repose,
And, though enforced by higher need,
Make My Imperial bosom bleed."
As the fat spider wipes its eye
Over each strangulated fly;
As Abdul Hamid once was fain
To weep for the Armenian slain;
As Haynau felt his eyelids drip
When women cowered beneath his whip:
As Torquemada doubtless bled
With sorrow for the tortured dead—
So in his own peculiar style
Weeps the Imperial Crocodile.