O, Cohen, hear our song of sentiment!
Withdraw thy sordid thoughts from cent. per cent.,
And, for, the sake of Empire, gentle Yid,
Lend us a million quid.
If England's great Financial Houses would
Back up our aspirations as they should,
If we could influence cold £ s. d.
By sentiment and words of loyalty,
What joy - and cash - were ours! Ay, what a loan
We'd gaily spend - if our true aims were known.
How might we proudly flaunt our nationhood!
If Cohen only would.
If uncle owned a little sentiment,
And pondered less upon his much per cent.;
If blind financiers could he made to see
The high cash value of our loyalty,
How they would rush, with many offers rash,
And load us up with piles and piles of cash;
And gladly shower rich gifts upon the land,
Could they but understand!
Behold the grand beginning we have made!
When Empire called us, did we stand afraid?
Nay; but we said, 'We are the proud new land!
And with the nations shall we take our stand.
The arms to guard our shores shall be our own!
If, please, you will assist us with a loan,
We'll teach our foes that their designs are rash!...
Do you advance the cash?'
Alas! he turns a deaf ear to our claims;
For gushing loyalty and noble aims
With Cohen count for poor security.
There is no sentiment in £ s. d.,
For who would search grey London through and through
And hope to find the Sentimental Jew;
Then crave a loan on aspirations? Nay!
'Der bishness vouldn't bay.'
O Cohen, if thine heart we cannot touch,
Then on the old pawn-ticket, say, how much?
Thou wilt advance in cash to guard for thee
Thine old security?