Beside yon Chinese Wall that skirts the way With border'd parapets keeping all at bay, There, in oriental mansion, skill'd to rule, The English Master drills his little school;
A man laid back he is, and tall to view, I know him well, the Chinese students too; Well have the slumbering backrow learn'd to trace The day's translating in his morning face; Full well they laugh with adulatory glee, At all his jokes, for many a joke has he: Full well the chinese whisper, circling round, Conveys the pain of baijiu that he'd down'd:
Yet he is kind; or if severe in aught, The love he bares to learning is in fault. The Natives all declare it [but in Wu]; 'Tis certain he can write. And sporting too: Grids he can measure, trivial pursuits presage, And e'en the story runs he is a Sage. In arguing too, the Chinese own his skill, For e'en though vanquish'd he can argue still; While words of learned length and thund'ring sound Amaze the gazing students rang'd around; When Ben said "Fuck" t'was meant as 'kung-ho' praise, This English mandarin for sure continues to amaze. And still they gaze and still the wonder grows, That one small head can carry all he knows.