My dear Lady LONDON, is not comme il faut;

If I do not woo you the sunny earth over.

At least I lend light to love-making below.

He's just like old Pluto, Persephone's prigger;

You'll follow Apollo the Younger—that's me!

He's sombre as Styx, and as black as a nigger.

His lady-love, LONDON! Bah! Fiddle-de-dee!

His murky monopoly, Madam, is ended.

Come down, my dear love, to my subterrene hall!

I think you'll admit it is sparkling and splendid,