III. BALLADE.
I often does a quiet read
At Booty Shelly's[12] poetry;
I thinks that Swinburne at a screed
Is really almost too-too fly;
At Signor Vagna's[13] harmony
I likes a merry little flutter;
I've had at Pater many a shy;
In fact, my form's the Bloomin' Utter.
My mark's a tidy little feed,
And 'Enery Irving's gallery,
To see old 'Amlick do a bleed,
And Ellen Terry on the die,
Or Franky's ghostes at hi-spy,[14]
And parties carried on a shutter.[15]
Them vulgar Coupeaus is my eye!
In fact, my form's the Bloomin' Utter.
The Grosvenor's nuts-it is, indeed!
I goes for 'Olman 'Unt like pie.
It's equal to a friendly lead
To see B. Jones's judes go by.
Stanhope he makes me fit to cry.
Whistler he makes me melt like butter.
Strudwick he makes me flash my cly—
In fact, my form's the Bloomin' Utter.
Envoy.
I'm on for any Art that's 'Igh;
I talks as quite as I can splutter;
I keeps a Dado on the sly;
In fact, my form's the Bloomin' Utter!
W. E. Henley.
[11] An adaptation of "Madonna mia."