They're booked right through to everywhere!
To lead a life of hopeless worry,
With Bradshaw, Baedeker, and Murray.
And yet they hail with eagerness
The Continental Mail Express!
I think of toil by rail and boat,
And cackle at the table d'hôte;
Of coin of somewhat doubtful mintage,
And wine of very gruesome vintage;
Of passes steep that try the lungs,