But I must end. My Pilgrim’s shrine is won,
And he and I must part—so let it be.
His task in life was the pursuit of “Fun;”
In Babylon there are thousands such as he;
Each year breaks hundreds, and the wrecks few see.
That venturous Muse were voted all too bold
Who golden youth in their gregarious glee
Should paint, or the veracious tale unfold
Of dull esurient lives in gilded styes outrolled.
* * * * *