"ARF A POUND ER MARGARINE, PLEASE; AN' MOTHER SAYS WILL YER PUT THE COW ON IT, 'COS SHE'S GOT COMPANY!"]
(_Adapted freely from the Old Royal Repartee._)
_Middle-aged would-be Mountaineer (loq.)._
Fain would I climb, but,--well, my belt's too small.
If your girth grows, Sir, _do not climb at all_! Your Alpen-stock put by, ere the world mock. And you become an (Alpine) Laughing-stock. Though Alps on Alps arise _you_ stop in bed, And let a younger man yon glaciers tread. The dangers of steep slides and deep crevasses Are not for elderly donkeys, but young asses. The Himalayas woo you still to pant on? Well, treat 'em as you would an arch young wanton, Think of your legs, the boys, the girls, the Missus, And do not play the elderly Narcissus. To witch the world with noble "Icemanship" Is tempting, yes, but if you chance to slip, Your bones a fathomless abyss may strew, An Alpine death,--and they'll all pine for you. Man after fifty fits not the sublime, So stay at home nor seek a foreign climb. The plague of guide, and chum, and wife and daughter, Is Senex who will climb and didn't oughter. Stick to your Alpine Club, but like old foodles, Pay, stop at home, and play at whist at Boodles'. Decline with the old mania to be bitten, And you will own this tip is diamond-written (Like good Queen Bess's repartee on glass), And that you're saved from being an old ass!
In the gardens at Kew It were certainly sweet To be wand'ring with you, Far from city and street; 'Twere the one thing, dear NELLIE, my joy and content to complete In the gardens at Kew.
In the gardens at Kew, If my way I might take By the water with you, Oh! how merry we'd make,-- I am sure you would dote on the dear little ducks in the lake In the gardens at Kew.
In the gardens at Kew, Having tea _à la fraises_, We would cheerfully stew 'Neath the fierce solar rays, And in "eloquent silence" you'd meet my affectionate gaze In the gardens at Kew.
In the gardens at Kew We would sit in the shade For an hour or two, Without chaperone's aid, And your head on my shoulder (who knows?) might be lovingly laid In the gardens at Kew.
In the gardens at Kew, Far away from the crowd, Though I'm longing for you, To stern Fate I have bowed: For it grieves me, dear NELLIE, to tell you, "_No dogs are allowed_" In the gardens at Kew!