The Maxim Gun, and they have not.
К этой нехитрой формуле все и сводится, только пулеметы Максима постепенно сменяли самолеты, танки, и прочие дроны с ракетами Хеллфайр. Вся киплинговская романтика в двух строках.
Полностью короткая поэма "Современный Путешественник" выглядит так:
The Modern Traveller
Blood thought he knew the native mind;
He said you must be firm, but kind.
A mutiny resulted.
I shall never forget the way
That Blood stood upon this awful day
Preserved us all from death.
He stood upon a little mound
Cast his lethargic eyes around,
And said beneath his breath:
'Whatever happens, we have got
The Maxim Gun, and they have not.'
У ХилАри Беллока (во французском варианте он ХилЯр) довольно много едких эпиграмм:
Epitaph on the Politician Himself
Here richly, with ridiculous display,
The Politician's corpse was laid away.
While all of his acquaintance sneered and slanged
I wept: for I had longed to see him hanged.
He lost his money first of all
And losing that is half the story-
And later on he tried a fall
With fate, in things less transitory
He lost his heart-and found it dead-
(His one and only true discovery),
And after that he lost his head,
And lost his chances of recovery.
He lost his honour bit by bit
Until the thing was out of question.
He worried so at losing it,
He lost his sleep and his digestion.
He lost his temper- and for good-
The remnants of his reputation,
His taste in wine, his choice of food,
And then, in rapid culmination,
His certitudes, his sense of truth,
His memory, his self control,
The love that graced his early youth,
And lastly his immortal soul.