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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=357956" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Martyred Democrat</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">In Lady Lusher's drawing-room, where float the strains of Brahms,<br>While cultured caterpillars chew the leaves of potted palms <br>In Lady Lusher's drawing-room, upon a summer's day,<br>The democrats of Toorak met to pass an hour away.<br>They hearkened to a long address by Grabbit, M.L.C.,<br>While Senator O'Sweatem passed around the cakes and tea;<br>And all the brains and beauty of the suburb gathered there,<br>In Lady Lusher's drawing-room - Miss Fibwell in the chair.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br> (With increasing interest):<br>Ay, all the fair and brave were there - the fair in fetching hats;<br>The brave in pale mauve pantaloons and shiny boots, with spats.<br>But pride of all that gathering, a giant 'mid the rest,<br>Was Mr Percy Puttipate, in fancy socks and vest.<br>Despite his bout of brain-fag, plainly showing in his eyes,<br>Contracted while inventing something new in nobby ties,<br>He braved the ills and draughts and chills, damp tablecloths and mats,<br>Of Lady Lusher's drawing-room: this prince of Democrats.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>  (Resume the breeze):<br>Upon a silken ottoman sat Willie Dawdlerich,<br>Who spoke of democratic things to Mabel Bandersnitch.<br>And likewise there, on couch and chair, with keen, attentive ears,<br>Sat many sons and daughters of our sturdy pioneers;<br>Seed of our noble squatter-lords, those democrats of old,<br>Who held of this fair land of ours as much as each can hold;<br>Whose motto is, and ever was, despite the traitor's gab:<br>'Australia for Australians - as much as each can grab.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>  (In cultured tones):<br>'Deah friends,' began Miss Fibwell, 'you - haw - understand ouah league<br>Is formed to stand against that band of schemers who intrigue -<br>That horrid band of Socialists who seek to wrest ouah raights,<br>And, with class legislation, straive to plague ouah days and naights.<br>They claim to be the workers of the land; but Ai maintain<br>That, tho' they stand for horny hands, we represent the bwain.<br>Are not bwain-workers toilers too, who labah without feah?'<br>(The fashioner of fancy ties: 'Heah, heah! Quaite raight! Heah, heah!')</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>'They arrogate unto themselves the sacred name of Work.<br>But still, Ai ask, where is the task that we've been known to shirk?<br>We're toilahs, ev'ry one of us, altho' they claim we're not.'<br>(The toiler on the ottoman: 'Bai jove, I've heard thet rot!')<br>'Moahovah, friends, to serve theah ends, they're straiving, maight and main,<br>To drag down to theah level folk who work with mind and bwain.<br>They claim we do not earn ouah share, but, Ai maintain we do!'<br>(The grafter in the fancy socks: 'The'ah beastly rottahs, too!')</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>  (With rising inflexion):<br>'Yes, friends, they'll drag us down and down, compelling us to live<br>Just laike themselves - the selfish class, on what they choose to give.<br>Nay, moah, they'll make us weah theah clothes - plain working - clothes, forsooth!<br>Blue dungarees in place of these.' . . . 'Mai Gahd! Is this the trooth?'<br>  (With fine dramatic force):<br>A gurgling groan; a sick'ning thud; a flash of fancy socks,<br>And Mr Percy Puttipate fell like a stricken ox.<br>Crashed down, through cakes and crockery, and lay, 'mid plate and spoon,<br>In Lady Lusher's drawing-room one summer afternoon.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>  (With a rush of emotion):<br>A scream from Mabel Bandersnitch pierced thro' the ev'ning calm<br>(The cultured grubs, alone unmoved, still chewed the potted palm).<br>Strong men turned white with sudden fright; girls fell in faint and swoon<br>In Lady Lusher's drawing-room that fateful afternoon.<br>  (With tears in the voice):<br>But Puttipate? ... Ah, what of him - that noble Democrat,<br>As he lay there with glassy stare, upon the Persian mat?<br>What recks he now for nobby ties, and what for fancy socks,<br>As he lies prone, with cake and cream smeared on his sunny locks?</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>  (Mournfully):<br>Good Mr Grabbit took his head, O'Sweatem seized his feet;<br>They bore him to an ambulance that waited in the street.<br>Poor Mabel Bandersnitch sobbed loud on Dawdlerich's vest;<br>A pall of woefell over all - Miss Fibwell and the rest.<br>A mournful gloom o'erspread the room, as shades of ev'ning fell,<br>And, one by one, they left the place till none was left to tell<br>The tale of that dire tragedy that wrecked the summer calm -<br>Except the apathetic grubs, who went on eating palm.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>  (Suggestive pause; then, with fresh interest):<br>There still be men - low common men - who sneer at Toorak's ways,<br>And e'en upon poor Puttipate bestow but grudging praise.<br>But when you hear the vulgar sneer of some low Labor bore<br>  (With fine dramatic intensity):<br>Point to that pallid patriot on Lady Lusher's floor!<br>Point to that daring Democrat, that hero of Toorak,<br>Who lifeless lay, that fateful day, upon his noble back!<br>Point to that hero, stricken down for our great Party's sake,<br>His sunny locks, his fiery socks o'er-smeared with cream and cake.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>  (In scathing tones):<br>Then lash with scorn the base poltoon who sullies his fair fame.<br>Who, moved by fear, attempts to smear the lustre of that name.<br>Great Puttipate! The Democrat! Who perished, all too soon,<br>In Lady Lusher's drawing-room, one summer afternoon.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Clarence+Michael+James+Stanislaus+Dennis">Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=357956" data-title="The Martyred Democrat de Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis" data-description="In Lady Lusher's drawing-room, where float the strains of Brahms,
While cultured caterpillars chew the leaves of potted palms 
In Lady Lusher's drawing-room, upon a summer's day,
The democrats of Toorak met to pass an hour away.
They hearkened to ..."></div>
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