THE IDEAL HOLIDAY
Come, Phyllis, for the season is already on the wane,
And the question of our holiday perplexes once again;
Now every jaded Londoner fresh stores of vigour seeks,
Our problem is how best to pass these few and fleeting weeks.
As one by one each watering-place we call to mind in turn
As promptly some objection to each one we discern;
Thus Scarborough's too chilly, and Ilfracombe too hot,
And this too near, and that too dear, that sandy and this not.
The Alps are always overrun and crowded as Cheapside,