Ninety-one in the shade, by NEGRETTI and ZAMBRA!
'Tis O that I dwelt in an ice-crevasse,
Or rented a share in the _Mer de Glace_,
Or hired (ere I melt and resolve to gas)
That _patio_ cool in the chill Alhambra
(Not "Lei-ces-ter Squarr," but Granada far),
Where fountains sprinkle and plash and tinkle--
Ay me! that my dream can ne'er come to pass!
"Fourteen hours of the sun!" says the "Jordan Recorder"--
Each day it grows hotter in London town!
The plane-trees are withered and burnt and brown;
Ere Lammas has come the leaves are down!
The months have been mixed--they're out of order;
We'd the weather of June six weeks too soon;
And now we swelter and gasp for shelter--
We're grilled alive from toe to crown!
There's drought in the fields, and drought in my gullet!
I would that I sat in a boundless tank
Of claret and soda, and drank and drank!
My thirst with PANTAGRUEL'S own would rank--
Gargantuan draughts alone may lull it!
A shandygaff "chute" _a la_ BOYTON would suit,
Or of Pilsener lager a Nile or Niagara--
Would that it through my [oe]sophagus sank!
I'd long to be NANSEN, that bold Norwegian,
Who's off to the north like a sailor-troll;
Dry land I prefer in my inmost soul,
And his tub-like _Fram_ will pitch and roll,
But she's bound at least for a glacial region!
Or stay, to be sure! here's Professor D----R
To cold can consign us untold degrees _minus_--
There's no need to visit the Northern Pole!
With this decuman "heat-wave" I grow delirious,
And babble a prayer to the Maid who sways
The Weather-department (on working-days)
Of the _Daily Graphic_--in crazy phrase--
The bale-fire to quench of far-distant Sirius!
To the Man in the Moon at noon I croon
For a lunatic boon, if that lone buffoon
Can stay this canicular, perpendicular,
Bang-on-my-forehead, horrid, torrid,
Beaming, gleaming, and ever-streaming
Blaze of rays that maze and daze!!
* * * * *