Why, unless he is a swaggering impostor,
I will gladly hail him as the Coming Man!
But he'll have to be a dab at drunken drivel,
And he'll have to be a daisy at sick gush,
To turn on the taps of swagger and of snivel,
Raise the row-de-dow heel-chorus and hot flush.
He must know the taste of sensual young masher,
As well as that of aitch-omitting snob;
And then—well, I'll admit he is a dasher,
Who, as Laureate (of the Halls) is "on the job!"