The arrogant yet gluttonous camel
Never shows satiety;
Would rather rest in asphodel
Than figure in Society,
But Mrs. Kinfoot, spotting a new head
To add to her collection—grasps her hand,
And Mrs. Freudenthal is gently led
Within the portals of the Promised Land.
MALGRÉ SOI
The voices weave a web of futile sound;
A fan is dropped by Lady Carabas;
Restored to her: but Mrs. Kinfoot frowned,
Guarding the door, as Cerberus his pass,
But suddenly, great waves of sound obtrude
Upon the pleasant party in this room;
While we enjoy the music's interlude,
Outside there swells the trumpet-call of doom.
Mosaic tombs or unmarked graves—asunder
Are rent. King Dodon rises from the dead
And while the quivering heavens thunder,
He smooths his robe, then calmly shakes his head
Free of the ages' dust—but now the voices
Of these condemned (for judgment will not tarry)
Shrill out in woe; but one, alone, rejoices,
For Mrs. Kinfoot scents another quarry.
The Army of the Dead are on the march
To meet their Maker on his ivory throne;
He sits beneath the rainbow's radiant arch,
Dispensing judgment. Oh! atone, atone!
But Mrs. Kinfoot saw a sailor-sinner [*]
—With one arm—leave St. Paul's and walk away
And Mrs. Kinfoot longed to give a dinner
To meet the Judge upon the Judgment day!
[*] Editor's note: Lord Nelson(?).