BEAUTIES OF BOLOGNA.
Not those, along the route prescribed To see them in a hurry, Church, palace, gallery, described By worthy Mr. Murray. Nor those detailed as well by whom But Baedeker, the German; The choir, the nave, the font, the tomb, The pulpit for the sermon. No tourist traps which tire you out, A never-ending worry; Most interesting things, no doubt, Described by Mr. Murray. Nor yet, O gastronomic mind— In cookery a boss, sage In recipes—you will not find, I mean Bologna sausage. Not beauties, which, perhaps, you class With your own special curry; Not beauties, which we must not pass If led by Mr. Murray. I sing—alas, how very ill!— Those beauties of the city, The praise of whose dark eyes might fill A much more worthy ditty. O, Ladies of Bologna, who The coldest heart might flurry, I much prefer to study you Than Baedeker or Murray! Those guide-book sights no longer please; Three hours still, tre ore, I have to lounge and look at these Bellissime signore. Then slow express—South Western goes Much faster into Surrey— Will take me off to other shows Described by Mr. Murray. But still, Signore, there will be, By your sweet faces smitten, One Englishman who came to see What Baedeker has written. Let Baedeker then see the lot In frantic hurry-scurry. I've found some beauties which are not Described by Mr. Murray.