I'm but a plebeian, I know,

But feelings as ardent as mine

May feel a legitimate glow

On reading this eloquent line;

Though Fate has denied me as yet

A fame or a fortune renowned,

By items like these I can feel when I please

An aristocrat down to the ground!

The fact that I never have seen

The gentleman mentioned—as soon

I'd fly as distinguish between

Himself and the Man in the Moon—

Has little to do with the case;

My knowledge, I frankly confess,

Of the doings of those who our "classes" compose

Is wholly derived from the Press.

But eagerly over my tea

My eyes on this volume I cast,

I read of engagements to be,

Of dances and fêtes of the past,

I learn with the deepest regret

That the Duke of X. Y. is unwell,

And with pleasure I glow that the Marquis of O.

Has dined with the Duchess of L.!

In fact, as I muse in a dream,

The charm that this column extends

Makes all the nobility seem

My intimate personal friends;

Political leaders are bosh,

And Foreign Intelligence stuff,

Just print up to date the deeds of the great,

And I shall be happy enough!

That "Beauty's decaying among us!"

By certain old fogies we're told.

Many poets have ceaselessly sung us!

But then even poets grow old.

Smelfungus has "been to the Palace,"

And Beauty, he thinks "going out."

Now can it be folly or malice?

Is he blind, or bald-headed and stout?

I think 'tis most likely the latter.

He's fifty, no doubt, if a day.

Yes, that I suspect's "what's the matter";

And then, who cares what he may say?

When he went to the Palace of Crystal,

He puffed, I've no doubt, and swigged port,

And what wonder then if he missed all

The Vision of Beauty at sport?

At Kiss in the Ring we were playing,

He envied us, that's where it is,

Because if near us he came straying

He knew we'd refuse him a kiss.

And so (as Tot puts it) he "telled a lie,"

To cover his nasty mean spite.

No, pessimist purblind and elderly,

Our looks weren't in fault, 'twas your sight!

What with Tennis, and one thing and t'other,

We're prettier than ever all round;

I'm nearly as strong as my brother,

Tall, straight, nimble, healthy, and sound.

And as to my teeth!—you don't know them,

Or else you have told what's not true;

You'd retract, were I only to show them,

And I feel I could show them—at you!

Oh, what is this faint perfume that I smell,

And smelling seem, somehow, to know so well?

What recollections should it start again,

What memories of the past bring in its train?

Is it a whiff of country come to-day,

Of mangel-wurzels, or of new-mown hay?

Or was it when She witched me with a glance

The subtle odour reached me—at the dance?

Where'er it was, I'm certain that I know it,

As certain as I am I'm not a poet,

But stay, was it when influenza gripped us?

It was! Eureka! Yes, it's Eucalyptus!

Greek and Philosophy but tire and twist 'em.

Duncedom they praise, and dub it "democratic,"

And their abuse of the great Attic system

Is systematic!