Jack Strike makes fools of us all;
He leads us head first into trouble:
Like a child, with soap suds and pipe,
He sends up his wonderful bubble.
Will he never get any more sense
Than coming when work is not needed?
If he comes when markets are full,
The old fool should never be heeded.
Had he come nine months ago,
When cotton goods were very much wanted,
His friends could have carried their ends,
And his foes might then have been daunted.
Or if he had waited a while,
Until our trade should revive,
We might welcome him then with a smile,
And say “Jack Strike’s to our interest’s alive.”
Any fool but Jack Strike can see
That every dog has his day
When each in his turn can say what he likes
And nearly have his own way.
But Jack Strike is impatient: he cannot wait;
Discretion with him is a crime:
He wastes his resources and cripples himself
With kicking and struggling before it’s his time.