A MODERN ECLOGUE.
Scene—A Crowded Thoroughfare. Enter Strephon and Phyllis on bicycles, at the rate of fifteen miles an hour.
Strephon.
We care not, Phyllis, my own, to-day,
For walking in Kensington Park,
To flirt in the old conventional way,
And saunter home in the dark.
Nay, pleasanter far it is to "scorch"—
To hear your silvery bell,
While the answering squeak of my horn may speak
For the fact that I love you well!
Both.
Oh, isn't it sweet to clear the street,
While elderly persons frown!
"Now, stoopid, look out!" we pleasantly shout,
And bang goes a gentleman down!
Phyllis.
Strephon, I love you, I confess,
For who could fail to admire
The humorous way you spoil a dress
And ruin a girl's attire?
To see you silently creep along,
And then with a burst of speed
Spread liberal dirt on the feminine skirt
Is a sight for the gods, indeed!
Both.
Oh, isn't it glee to do it, and see
The lady-pedestrian flinch,
With jubilant rush to scatter the slush
And miss her foot by an inch!
Strephon.
I frightened those horses, I'm much afraid,—
The excellent coachman's riled!
Phyllis.
And I've demolished a nursery-maid,
And certainly hurt a child!
Strephon.
I made that stately dowager jump,
She leapt to one side, and puffed!
Phyllis.
That leisurely cur, I'm inclined to infer,
To-morrow will go to be stuffed!
Both.
So side by side we merrily ride,
And scatter the murmuring throng,
Who think the police should compel us to cease,
And mournfully ask, "How long?"
Just a little too much.—When a parliamentary candidate or popular Member is received with a torchlight procession, it is almost unnecessary for his constituents to present him, on a dark night, with "an illuminated address."
