There’s a chant of cheer for Bohemia’s son
At the Sign of the Cheap Table d’Hote—Come in!
Feel not your pocket, for here’s a feast,
And your fill of wine for a few mean pence—
Fish and fowl and a loaf, at least—
And all for a matter of fifty cents!
Oh, wonderful things you’ll discover there
In the midst of the clatter and smoke and din,
For Genius is child of the very air
One breathes at the cheap table d’hote—Come in!