Is a recklessness sublime;
But for us a quiet corner
In a side-street, down a stair,
Vive Bohème and Vive La Ria!
Who would be a millionnaire?
Here are brains, served up en bon mot,
Here’s spaghetti, piping hot;
Here’s a crowd of jolly fellows,
Well contented with their lot.
Mayhap, as the feast progresses,