The Works of Rudyard Kipling: One Volume Edition

PAGETT, M.P.

   The toad beneath the harrow knows
   Exactly where each tooth-point goes.
   The butterfly upon the road
   Preaches contentment to that toad.

   Pagett, M.P., was a liar, and a fluent liar therewith—
   He spoke of the heat of India as the “Asian Solar Myth”;
   Came on a four months' visit, to “study the East,” in November,
   And I got him to sign an agreement vowing to stay till September.

   March came in with the koil. Pagett was cool and gay,
   Called me a “bloated Brahmin,” talked of my “princely pay.”
    March went out with the roses. “Where is your heat?” said he.
   “Coming,” said I to Pagett, “Skittles!” said Pagett, M.P.

   April began with the punkah, coolies, and prickly-heat,—
   Pagett was dear to mosquitoes, sandflies found him a treat.
   He grew speckled and mumpy—hammered, I grieve to say,
   Aryan brothers who fanned him, in an illiberal way.

   May set in with a dust-storm,—Pagett went down with the sun.
   All the delights of the season tickled him one by one.
   Imprimis—ten day's “liver”—due to his drinking beer;
   Later, a dose of fever—slight, but he called it severe.

   Dysent'ry touched him in June, after the Chota Bursat—
   Lowered his portly person—made him yearn to depart.
   He didn't call me a “Brahmin,” or “bloated,” or “overpaid,”
    But seemed to think it a wonder that any one stayed.

   July was a trifle unhealthy,—Pagett was ill with fear.
   'Called it the “Cholera Morbus,” hinted that life was dear.
   He babbled of “Eastern Exile,” and mentioned his home with tears;
   But I haven't seen my children for close upon seven years.

   We reached a hundred and twenty once in the Court at noon,
   (I've mentioned Pagett was portly) Pagett, went off in a swoon.
   That was an end to the business; Pagett, the perjured, fled
   With a practical, working knowledge of “Solar Myths” in his head.

   And I laughed as I drove from the station, but the mirth died out on my lips
   As I thought of the fools like Pagett who write of their “Eastern trips,”
    And the sneers of the traveled idiots who duly misgovern the land,
   And I prayed to the Lord to deliver another one into my hand.