My friend, why did you hold your hand,
Why falter, why desist,
When there are treasures in the land
That never would be missed?
Next time you plunder the R. A.,
Its precincts do not quit
Till you have made, as plumbers say,
A thorough job of it.
Take ev'ry so-called work of art
And ( with a nation's thanks ) depart!
Remove each Royal Portrait, do,
Each Presentation Bust,
And all those Problem Pictures, too,
Which have to be discussed.
Take ev'ry daub that's labelled‘ Spring’
Or‘ Chelsea in a Fog,’
Or‘ Home again!’ or‘ Baby's Swing,’
Or‘ Mrs. A. and Dog.’
Take‘ Hanging up the Mistletoe!’
And ( with the public's blessing ) go!
Then prosecute your search elsewhere,
If fame you wish to win;
Take Shakespeare's bust from Leicester Square
And Cleopatra's Pin.
Take sculptured Statesmen, hand to breast,
Who on our pavements smile,
And half the statues that congest
The Abbey's crowded aisle.
And, last of all, whate'er befall,
Do n't fail to take the Albert Hall!