To G.B.

(Sing to tune of 'The Minstrel Boy')

Now brave G.B. to the war has gone,

At his writing desk you'll find him.

His paper puttees he has girded on,

And his fountain-open hangs down behind him.

Skilled in the art of scathing words,

And quick to fling the petra,

He fights 'a war to end all war,' etc. and etc.

Nay, rather, I suspect, he sat

And dealt in accents cursory,

Setting a most disgusting sprat

To catch a controversy.

Man of war, it seems quite clear,

Though spoiling for a fight,

Your bait will hardly draw, I fear,

An anti-War Club bite.

Printed by Geo. W. Slade Ltd., 11 Walter Street, Wellington, for the publishers, Mercantile Newspapers Ltd., Boulcott Avenue, Wellington.