Now after all these years it has come to pass that I am to change places with the cabman.
Perched aloft in the driver's seat of the First Person Singular, it is my proud privilege to crack the prefatory whip and start this newest and best Le Gallienne Vehicle upon its course through the garlanded Via Laurea to the Sign of the Golden Sheaf.
Look at it well, Dear People, before it starts, this golden vehicle of Richard Le Gallienne.
Consider how it is built on the authentic lines of the best workmanship, made to last for generations, maybe for ever.
Take note of its springs so perfectly hung that the Muse may ride in luxurious ease, unjarred by metrical joltings as befits the Queen.
Mark the mirror smooth surface of the lacquer that only time and tireless labour can apply.
Before this Master Coach of Poesy the rattle-jointed Tin Lizzie of Free Verse and the painted jazz wagon of Futurism and the cheap imitation of the Chinese palanquin must turn aside, they have no right of way, these literary road-lice on the garlanded Via Laurea.
With angry thumb, the traffic cop Time will jerk them back to the side streets and byways where they belong, to make way for the Golden Coach of Richard Le Gallienne.
_Lusisti est, et edisti, atque bibisti; Tempus abire, tibi est._
Take away the dancing girls, quench the lights, remove Golden cups and garlands sere, all the feast; away Lutes and lyres and Lalage; close the gates, above Write upon the lintel this; _Time is done for play! Thou hast had thy fill of love, eaten, drunk; the show Ends at last, 'twas long enough--time it is to go._
Thou hast played--ah! heart, how long!--past all count were they, Girls of gold and ivory, bosomed deep, all snow, Leopard swift, and velvet loined, bronze for hair, wild clay Turning at a touch to flame, tense as a strung bow. Cruel as the circling hawk, tame at last as dove,-- Thou hast had thy fill and more than enough of love.
Thou hast eaten; peacock's tongues,--fed thy carp with slaves,-- Nests of Asiatic birds, brought from far Cathay, Umbrian boars, and mullet roes snatched from stormy waves; Half thy father's lands have gone one strange meal to pay; For a morsel on thy plate ravished sea and shore; Thou hast eaten--'tis enough, thou shalt eat no more.