Oh, the jam and the mustard, my pippin, the crimsing, the blue, and the gold!
Scissorree, CHARLIE, rainbows ain't in it, and prisums is out in the cold.
I do like a picteresk poster, as big as a bloomin' back yard,
With the colour slopped on quite regardless; if that ain't 'Igh 'Art, wy it's 'ard.
'Owsomever I mustn't feeloserphise. Off to Olympia I 'ooks,
To see Venice the Bride of the Sea, as set forth in them sixpenny books.
Bless his twirly merstache, he's a twicer, this IMRE KIRALFY, dear boy,
And he give me a two hours' spektarkle old LEIGHTON hisself might enjoy.
Bit puzzling the "Pageant" is, CHARLIE, until that Synopsis you've read;
Wish I'd mugged it all up overnight; but I carn't get it straight in my 'ead.