TO A YOUNG COUNTRY FRIEND, AGED SEVEN.
(Who whistled of Monte Carlo not wisely, but too well.)
Sweet youth! I wonder if you'll feel much pain
To know that that sweet soul-inspiring strain
You whistle at so wonderful a rate
Is now in point of fact quite out of date.
Down in the country pr'aps you hardly know
At what a pace these street-songs come and go.
At present you're a day behind the fair,
And want (as I myself) a change of air.
You should protest you're being driven crazy
By waiting for the answer of fair Daisy;
Or else ask sadly what was she to do
Who, "silly girl," got taken on to Crewe.
Whistle that charming ditty, if you must,
Until, (forgive the phrase) until you bust,
But do not whistle, if you wish to rank
As in the know, "The Man who broke the Bank."