Punch/Volume 147/Issue 3826/To a False Patriot
He came obedient to the Call; He might have shirked like half his mates Who, while their comrades fight and fall, Still go to swell the football gates.
And you, a patriot in your prime, You waved a flag above his head, And hoped he'd have a high old time, And slapped him on the back and said:
"You'll show 'em what we British are! Give us your hand, old pal, to shake;"And took him round from bar to bar And made him drunk—for England's sake.
That's how you helped him. Yesterday, Clear-eyed and earnest, keen and hard, He held himself the soldier's way And now they've got him under guard.
That doesn't hurt you; you're all right; Your easy conscience takes no blame: But he, poor boy, with morning's light, He eats his heart out, sick with shame.
What's that to you? You understand Nothing of all his bitter pain; You have no regiment to brand; You have no uniform to stain;
No vow of service to abuse, No pledge to King and country due; But he had something dear to lose, And he has lost it—thanks to you. O. S.