“_The blue fly sung in the pane._”—TENNYSON.
TOILING in Town now is “horrid”
(There is that woman again!)—
June in the zenith is torrid,
Thought gets dry in the brain.
There is that woman again:
“Strawberries! fourpence a pottle!”
Thought gets dry in the brain;
Ink gets dry in the bottle.
“Strawberries! fourpence a pottle!”
Oh for the green of a lane!—
Ink gets dry in the bottle;
“Buzz” goes a fly in the pane!
Oh for the green of a lane,
Where one might lie and be lazy!
“Buzz” goes a fly in the pane;
Bluebottles drive me crazy!
Where one might lie and be lazy,
Careless of Town and all in it!—
Bluebottles drive me crazy:
I shall go mad in a minute!
Careless of Town and all in it,
With some one to soothe and to still you,
I shall go mad in a minute,
Bluebottle, then I shall kill you!
With some one to soothe and to still you,
As only one’s feminine kin do,—
Bluebottle, then I shall kill you:
There now! I’ve broken the window!
As only one’s feminine kin do,—
Some muslin-clad Mabel or May!—
There now! I’ve broken the window!
Bluebottle’s off and away!
Some muslin-clad Mabel or May,
To dash one with _eau de Cologne_;—
Bluebottle’s off and away,
And why should I stay here alone?
To dash one with _eau de Cologne_,
All over one’s eminent forehead;
And why should I stay here alone?
Toiling in Town now is “horrid.”
_Austin Dobson._