Will you follow where the Bandicoots inevitably stray,
As they amorously hurtle through the stubble and the hay;
Where the Jebusites and Amorites are gathered in a bunch,
While they watch the duck-billed Platypus preparing for his lunch?
Where the toothsome Trichinopli keeps turning on the spit—
Oh my dove-like Trichinopoli, how hard you are to hit!
There is something so elusive and desserting in your shape,
That I had to shoot you sitting and to load my gun with grape.
Though the Mandrake give you goose-skin by its inharmonious shriek,
And a tug of war come thenning after Greek has met with Greek;
I will stay at home and see the giddy milkman fill his pail
For an orchestra of Clepsydras conducted by a Snail.
And it's oh to be a Manatee—I think I shall be soon—
Riding coffee-coloured Dolphins on the snaffle (or bridoon).
With his Barnacles and Biffin-boys belaying in the sea,
He has always eggs at breakfast, has the merry Manatee.
Can you see me then subsiding very stately very sly,
Like a soluble quadratic which has lost its x and y.
Getting out my rusty rapier and dissecting with a lunge
All the daffodils and daisies that I grow upon my sponge?
Can you see me on a tram-car, while I stand upon my head,
Shredding out the scarlet runners which no publisher has read,
In a horse-case predetermined by a puisne-judge alone,
Who is tired of seeing juries with a rider of their own?
If the dactyls and the spondees should eventually pall,
You can call on Miss Caesura and conduct her to a ball.
You can feed the girl on trochees, and of course you can propose,
If hexameters delight you when recited through the nose.
Happy days, how soon ye falter; can a Bachelor have bliss?
Can a contrapuntal Bulbul woo her lover with a kiss?
Can a Scotsman get protection for his philibeg and trews
By dictating half a column to the Illustrated News?
Can a Bumble-bee be cheerful if related to a Mouse
Which has left its cheesy larder and been captured by a Grouse?
Can a man-of-war be manly, can a gum-boil stick like glue?
Can accounts be cooked with "stumers," and converted into stew?
Nay, I fly from all these problems; I am fortunately deaf
To the fascinating music of the careful Q. E. F.,
Nor can theorems allure me, never, never will I be
Mathematically married to a vulgar Q. E. D.