Struck Ile

W—stl—nd, the bank–note man,
      Holding the Treasury keys,
Promised to 'pay the bearer' 
      Eighty crores  of rupees,
And C—lv—n was caught up to Allahabad
            –Valhallahabad of L.G.'s.

W—stl—nd, the bank–note man,
      Proved in a lucid way
Nobody ought to be wrath if 
      Government couldn't pay;
And C—lv—n leaned from the bar of Heaven 
            and cheered him on to the fray.

W—stl—nd, the bank–note man,
       Served up the usual hash,
Added a grain of salt, and
      Drew pro-notes for the cash;
Devastating the P——r 
            with seven columns of trash.
A scrape from the golah's mouth-
      A tea cupful of the brine—
A crutch and a stay  and we pull through the day,
      And blunder along the line,
While Krishna W—stl—nd tootles his flute 
            to C—lv—n's starveling kine.

W—stl—nd, the bank–note man,
      Trusting to Time and Chance,
Tinkered the leak with a kerosine-can
      In the name of paraffinance;
And C—lv—n lighted a hurricane lamp
            to shine on the dreary dance.
Knaust where we lack the nous— 
       Thora mutti–ki–tel—
A pinch and a shift and away we drift
      With a dying wind in the sail;
But what shall we do when the cruize is run 
            and the last, least catspaws fail?

Here is a study in oils—
       Naught in the world could be fairer
W—stl—nd making his Bearer pay,
      Instead of  'paying the bearer',
And an Empire starting a bunnia's shop,  
            as the pice grow rarer and rarer.