"Karl Marx in metre or Lassalle in verse,
The vampire-horde of Capital he'll curse,
And praise the Proletariat;
But having thus delivered his bard-soul,
He finds it, practically, nice to loll
With Dives in his chariot.
"Lyrical Communism will not fright
Those 'Molochs of the Mart' this Son of Light
Keeps his poetic eye on.
'Who takes a Singer au grand sérieux?'
Mrs. Mæcenas asks. So he's on view,
Her Season's latest lion.
"But not alone," I said. "If all this host
Are right authentic Leos, she must boast
As potent charm as Circe's.
What is her wand? Is't wit, or wealth, or both?"
"Listen! That's Mumps the mimic, nothing loth,
Rolling out Vamper's verses!
"Vamper looks on and smiles with veiled delight.
Boredom's best friends are fellows who recite.
None like, not many listen,
But all must make believe to stand about
And watch a man gesticulate and shout,
With eyes that glare and glisten.
"'Tis hard indeed to hold in high esteem
The man who mouths out Eugene Aram's Dream
In guttural tones and raucous.
All these have heard a hundred times before
Young Vox, the vain and ventriloquial bore
They'd fain despatch to Orcus.
"So have they listened many and many a time
To little Jinks, the jerky comic mime,
And his facetious chatter.
But ill would fare Town's guest if he refused
For the five hundredth time to be 'amused'
By gush, or cockney patter.
"Horace's Piso were a pleasant chum
Compared with slangy laureates of the slum.
Hist! There's a tenor twitter,
A tremulous twangle of the minor strings.
'Tis Seraphin, sleek Amateur, who sings,
'Glide where the moonbeams glitter!'
"'To puling girls that listen and adore
Your love-lorn chants and woful wailings pour!'
Sang Horace to Hermogenes.
Seraphin's a Tigellius, and his style
Would bring the bland Venusian's scornful smile
The scowl of sour Diogenes.
"'Twere 'breaking butterflies upon the wheel'
To let such fribbles feel the critic steel
With scalpel-like severity?
Granted! But will no pangs the victims urge
To abate that plague of bores, which is the scourge
Of social insincerity?
"Wisdom is here, and Wit, Talent and Taste:
The latest wanderer from the Tropic Waste,
Sun-bronzed and care-lined, saunters
In cheery chat with mild-faced Mirabel,
Who with Romance's wildest weirdest spell
Has witched your Mudie-haunters.