(_By a (not) Dumb Waiter._)
Summers come and Summers go, Sir,
As appints the course of Nater:
In the winter I'm a grocer,
In the Summer I'm a waiter.
I'm a waiter at the sea-side;
There's the "Grand Hotel" up yonder--
Never hancient Rome or Greece eyed
Poet of the Summer fonder.
Though I'm quite self-heddycated,
Yet I love the Summer golden;
Every gent on whom I've waited
Feels 'isself to me beholden;
As appropriate verse I quote, Sir,
I can watch 'em growing gladder:
They're aweer 'ow much I dote, Sir,
On the golden light and shadder.
"_Tipped with gold_" the clouds and copses,
"_Tipped with gold_" yon arf-awake ox,
"_Tipped with gold_" the sheep and wapses,
"_Tipped with gold_" the 'arvest 'aycocks;
"_Tipped with gold_" the cows as browses,
Ditto waves and fish and sea-things,
Ditto shops and dwellin'-'ouses,
Ditto our hotel and tea-things.
"_Tipped with gold._" It's langwidge splendid,
Summing hup the Summer brightly--
Good for Nater, good for men, did
Gentlemen but read it rightly.
"_TIPPED with gold_" still what I quote is:
'Umble folk should not be proud, Sir,--
Which I 'opes you've marked our notice--
"No gratuities allowed," Sir!
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