User: Can you continue this poem for me?
  Verses by H. BELLOC
Surrey, deceased
Eldest Son and Heir of Charles, first Baron
Eldest Son and Heir of Peter, sixth Earl of
During a late election Lord
Roehampton strained a vocal chord
From shouting, very loud and high,
To lots and lots of people why
The Budget in his own opin-
-Ion should not be allowed to win.
sought a Specialist, who said:
"You have a swelling in the head:
Your Larynx is a thought relaxed
And you are greatly over-taxed."
"I am indeed! On every side!"
The Earl (for such he was) replied
In hoarse excitement.... "Oh! My Lord,
You jeopardize your vocal chord!"
Broke in the worthy Specialist.
"Come! Here's the treatment! I insist!
To Bed! to Bed! And do not speak
A single word till Wednesday week,
When I will come and set you free
(If you are cured) and take my fee."
On Wednesday week the Doctor hires
A Brand-new Car with Brand-new Tyres
And Brand-new Chauffeur all complete
For visiting South Audley Street.
But what is this? No Union Jack
Floats on the Stables at the back!
No Toffs escorting Ladies fair
A 'Scutcheon hanging lozenge-wise
And draped in crape appals his eyes
Upon the mansion's ample door,
To which he wades through
heaps of Straw,[A]
And which a Butler
That I have used this sort of Rhyme.
drowned in tears,
On opening but confirms his fears:
"Oh! Sir!--Prepare to hear the worst!...
Last night my kind old master burst.
And what is more, I doubt if he
Has left enough to pay your fee.
With a dreadful oath,
denouncing both
The Budget _and_ the House of Lords,
Buzzed angrily Bayswaterwards.
And ever since, as I am told,
Gets it beforehand; and in gold.
Lord Calvin thought the Bishops should not sit
And _argued_ it!
In spite of which, for years, and years, and years,
They went on sitting with their fellow-peers.
What happened to Lord Henry Chase?
He got into a
_The Daily Howl_ had said that he--
But could not prove it perfectly
To Judge or Jury's satisfaction:
His Lordship, therefore,
won the action.
But, as the damages were small,
He gave them to a Hospital.
LORD HEYGATE had a troubled face,
His furniture was commonplace--
The sort of Peer who well might pass
For someone of the middle class.
I do not think you want to hear
About this unimportant Peer,
So let us leave him to discourse
About LORD EPSOM and his horse.
A Horse, Lord Epsom did bestride
With mastery and quiet pride.
He dug his spurs into its hide.
discerning it was pricked,
bucked and kicked,
A thing that no one could predict!
Assistant: Sure, a continuation for this poem could be:
  Lord Epsom clearly understood
The High-bred creature's nervous mood,
As only such a horseman could.
he was heard to say
That it was kinder to delay
His pleasure to a future day
He had the Hunter led away.
Lord Finchley tried to mend the Electric Light
It struck him dead: And serve him right!
It is the business of the wealthy man
To give employment to the artisan.
Who hated every kind of work,
And would repose for hours at ease
Houris seated on his knees.
A happy life!--Until, one day
(A Younger Turk: the very cream
And essence of the New Regime)
Dispelled this Oriental dream
By granting him a place at Court,
High Coffee-grinder to the Porte,
In which exalted Post
His Lordship yielded up the ghost.
Lord Hippo suffered fearful loss
By putting money on a horse
Which he believed, if it were pressed,
Would run far faster than the rest:
someone who was in the know
Had confidently told him so.
on the morning of the race
It only took
the _seventh_ place!
Picture the Viscount's great surprise!
He scarcely could believe his eyes!
He sought the Individual who
Had laid him odds at 9 to 2,
Suggesting as a useful tip
That they should enter Partnership
And put to joint account the debt
Arising from his foolish bet.
But when the Bookie--oh! my word,
I only wish you could have heard
The way he roared he did not think,
And hoped that they might strike him pink!
Lord Hippo simply turned and ran
From this infuriated man.
Despairing, maddened and distraught
He utterly collapsed and sought
His sire,
And brokenly addressed him thus:
His genial parent made reply:
Come! Come! Come! Come! Don't look so glum!
Trust your Papa and name the sum....
However ... stiffen up, you wreck;
Boys will be boys--so here's the cheque!
Lord Hippo, feeling deeply--well,
More grateful than he cared to tell--
And got a telegram at dinner
To say
that he had backed the Winner!
Lord Uncle Tom was different from
What other nobles are.
For they are yellow or pink, I think,
But he was black as tar.
He had his Father's debonair
And rather easy pride:
But his complexion and his hair
Were from the mother's side.
He often mingled in debate
And latterly displayed
Experience of peculiar weight
Upon the Cocoa-trade.
But now He speaks no more. The BILL
Which he could not abide,
It preyed upon his mind until
He sickened, paled, and died.
Lord Lucky, by a curious fluke,
Became a most important duke.
From living in a vile Hotel
A long way east of Camberwell
He rose, in less than half an hour,
To riches, dignity and power.
It happened in the following way:--
The Real Duke went out one day
To shoot with several people, one
Of whom had never used a gun.
This gentleman (a Mr. Meyer
As he was scrambling through the brake,
Discharged his weapon by mistake,
And plugged about an ounce of lead
Piff-bang into his Grace's Head----
Who naturally fell down dead.
His heir, Lord Ugly, roared, "You Brute!
Take that to teach you how to shoot!"
Whereat he volleyed, left and right;
But being somewhat short of sight,
His right-hand Barrel only got
The second heir, Lord Poddleplot;
The while the left-hand charge (or choke)
Accounted for another bloke,
Who stood with an astounded air
Bewildered by the whole affair
--And was the third remaining heir.
Execution (which
Is something rare among the Rich)
Lord Lucky, while of course he needed
help to prove their claim,
succeeded.
--But after his succession, though
All this was over years ago,
He only once indulged the whim
Of asking Meyer to lunch with him.
The reason that
Succeeded lately to his Brother John
Was that his Brother John, the elder son,
Died rather suddenly at forty-one.
The insolence of an Italian guide
Appears to be the reason that he died.
Lord Abbott's coronet was far too small,
So small, that as he sauntered down White Hall
Even the youthful Proletariat
(Who probably mistook it for a Hat)
Remarked on its exiguous extent.
Here is a picture of the incident.