TO PYRRHA ON THE THAMES
O Pyrrha! say what youth in "blazer" drest,
Woos you on pleasant Thames these summer eves;
For whom do you put on that dainty vest,
That sky-blue ribbon and those gigot sleeves?
"Simplex munditiis," as Horace wrote,
And yet, poor lad, he'll find that he is rash;
To-morrow you'll adorn some other boat,
And smile as kindly on another "mash."
As for myself—I'm old, and look askance
At flannels and flirtation; not for me
Youth's idiotic rapture at a glance
From maiden eyes: although it comes from thee.
The Excursion Season.—First Passenger (poetical). "Doesn't the sight o' the cerulean expanse of ocean, bearing on its bosom the white-winged fleets of commerce, fill yer with——"
Second Ditto. "Fi—— not a bit of it." (Steamer takes a slight lurch!) "Quite the contrary!"
[Makes off abruptly!
