'Why beholdest thou the mote that is in thy brother's eye, but perceivest not the beam that is in thine own.'-

Matt. vii. 3.
What ho! brother Denmark; so now in your eye
A beam-nay, 'tis two-my keen optics descry;
Our 'wee German lairdies,' friend Hapsburg and I,
Will pull it out quickly-don't wince, we will try.
I care not for what other monarchs opine,
I have told them before that my right is divine-
To reign as I list, and make war when I please,
Of men and of money my subjects to ease.
Our Grandma of England will find a cat's-paw
She never will make of our daughter-in-law;
Though she has given heirs to the Brandenburg line,
What then? I'm still king by a right that's divine.
The Kaiser aspires to the top of the tree
In the dear Faderland, so we do not agree;
But in this we are one, to deprive the proud Dane
Of rights which he vows he will stoutly maintain.
Friend Hapsburg is troubled with dimness of sight,
The beams in his eye we behold with affright;
There is Poland, and Venice, and Hungary too,
Obscuring, distorting each object in view.
A thorn in your side you can never pull out
Is Kossuth; and Poland will soon make a rout;
Italia for Venice her right arm has nerved-
You'll ne'er act the play out of 'Venice Preserved.'
When Poland was carved out, a pretty good slice
Was given to you, Brandenburg-not over nice;
You swallowed it whole-that's a beam in your eye.
Pull it out, and be candid-do, brother, try.
Brother Denmark is back'd by Britain and France.
Beware the Imperial, he'll lead you a dance;
Your provinces fair, on the beautiful Rhine,
Might get a new lord, your frontier a new line.
Now, hark ye, Sir Teuton, take care of yourself;
It may not be long till you're laid on the shelf;
You may find the deep Eider a dangerous stream,
And the thunders of war dissolve your fond dream.