kles drowned,
You be bound!
The cynic lay
I found would pay,
In a young Man of Mark!
_CHORUS._
All of you come along with me!
I'm for a rare new fine new spree!
Everybody is delighted when the Philistines are slighted,
All of you come my books to try!
I-twaddley-I-ti I-I-I,
Ego for ever! Buy! Buy! Buy!
And _I_'m all right!
Down with the West I go; my pen
Is bound to "fetch" the Upper Ten,
With the aid of some "log-rolling," my "distinction" much extolling.
Smart little scribes from near and far
Say, with a sniff, "O here's a Star!"
DICKENS on fine souls doth jar, THACKERAY is too dry,
But _his_ pessimistic air, rich and rare,
Subtle, fair,
Makes Philistia to stare, in a scare,
And to blare;
Whilst true Critics _debonnaire_, who are rare,
With a _flaire_,
For true humour,
Swell of rumour
The gregarious cry.
_CHORUS._
All of you come along with me!
You'll have a rare new fair new spree!
Paradox with "sniff" united, Poor Humanity snubbed and slighted.
Humour's new _cuvee_, extra-dry.
I-twaddley--high-dry-high-toned I!
Come and worship the pessimist "I"
For _that's_ all right!
After I've taken the toffish Town,
A second edition, at Half-a-crown,
Seeks the suffrages--(and _money_, for on Swelldom you'll go "stoney")--
Of the much derided Mob.
Yes, the Proletariat "Bob"
(With the Guinea of the Nob) must aid the Sons of Light.
Gath and Askelon, you see, can give Me,
L.S.D.
All true Egoists love those pregnant letters
Mystic Three!
Flout Philistia with great glee, fair and free,
But agree
To take its "tin,"
Though with a grin
Of pessimistic spite.
_CHORUS._
All of you come along with me!
'ARRY, who loves a fair old spree!
"Mugwump" with fine _morgue_ delighted, Cynic at "yearnestness" sore frighted!
All of you come my "tap" to try!
I-twaddley-high-dry-high-toned I!
Come along, boys, Buy! Buy! Buy!
And _I_'m all right!
* * * * *
[Illustration: THE HOME AND THE OPEN SPACE.
_Bumble_ (_loq._). "_WOT_, GRUMBLE AT BEING EWICTED, AND FOR THE
PUBLIC GOOD? NOW, I CALLS THAT INGRATITOOD! WY, WE'RE A-GOING TO MAKE
THIS INTO
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