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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=508575" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Politeness</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">The English and the French were met<br>Upon the field of future battle;<br>The foes were formidably set<br>And waiting for the guns to rattle;<br>When from the serried ranks of France<br>The English saw with woeful presage<br>Under a flaming flag advance<br>A trumpeter who bore a message.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Twas from their Marshal, quite polite,<br>Yet made the English leader shiver.<br>"We're perched," said he, "upon the height,<br>While you're exposed beside the river.<br>We have the vantage, you'll agree,<br>And your look-out is melancholy;<br>But being famed for courtesy<br>We'll let you fire the starting volley."</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The English General was moved,<br>In fact his eyes were almost tearful;<br>Then he too his politeness proved<br>By writing back: "We are not fearful.<br>Our England is too proud to take<br>The privilege you thrust upon her;<br>So let your guns in thunder break:<br>To you, M'sieu, shall be the houour."</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Again a note the Marshall sent<br>By envoy for his battle station:<br>"Your spirit wins my compliment,<br>Your courage my appreciation.<br>Yet you are weak and we are strong,<br>And though your faith is most inspiring,<br>Don't let us linger all day long -<br>Mon General, begin the firing."</div><div style="margin:10px 0">"How chivalrous the soul of France."<br>The English General reflected.<br>"I hate to take this happy chance,<br>But I suppose it's what's expected.<br>Politeness is a platitude<br>In this fair land of gallant foemen."<br>So with a heart of gratitude<br>He primed his guns and cried: "Let's go men!"</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The General was puzzled when<br>No answer came, said he: "What is it?<br>Why don't they give us hell?" And then<br>The herald paid another visit.<br>The Marshall wrote: "to your salute<br>Please pardon us for not replying;<br>To shatter you we cannot shoot . . .<br>My men are dead and I am dying."</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Robert+William+Service">Robert William Service</a><div class=q> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <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=508575" data-title="Politeness de Robert William Service" data-description="The English and the French were met Upon the field of future battle; The foes were formidably set And waiting for the guns to rattle; When from the serried ranks of France The English saw with woeful presage Under a flaming flag advance A trumpete..."></div> </div> </div>
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