To show a disregard for truth By penning scurrilous attacks, Appears to Lady C. in sooth Like stabbing folks behind their backs. The age of chivalry, she fears, Is gone for good, since noble dames Who irritate low sonneteers Get pelted with improper names. The Lady Clara cannot think What kind of pleasure can accrue From wasting paper, pens, and ink, On statements the reverse of true. If Master Launcelot, one fine day, (Urged on by madness or by malt,) Destroy'd himself--can Alfred say The Lady Clara was in fault? Her Ladyship needs no advice How time and money should be spent, And can't pursue at any price The plan that Alfred T. has sent. She does not in the least object To let the "foolish yeoman" go, But wishes--let him recollect-- That he should move to Jericho. The other, a reply to a well known song, is scarcely so good, because it does not follow its original so closely:-- MAUD. Nay, I cannot come into the garden just now, Tho' it vexes me much to refuse: But I _must_ have the next set of waltzes, I vow, With Lieutenant de Boots of the Blues. I am sure you'll be heartily pleas'd when you hear That our ball has been quite a success. As for _me_--I've been looking a monster, my dear, In that old fashion'd guy of a dress. You had better at once hurry home, dear, to bed; It is getting so dreadfully late. You may catch the bronchitis or cold in the head If you linger so long at our gate. Don't be obstinate Alfy; come, take my advice, For I know you're in want of repose. Take a basin of gruel (you'll find it _so_ nice), And remember to tallow your nose. No, I tell you I can't and I shan't get away, For De Boots has implor'd me to sing. As to _you_--if you like it, of course you can stay; You were always an obstinate thing. If you feel it a pleasure to talk to the flow'rs About "babble and revel and wine," When you might have been snoring for two or three hours, Why, it's not the least business of mine. In 1879 the Editor of _The World_ offered a prize for the best parody on Tennyson's _Lotus-Eaters_, the chosen subject being "Her Majesty's Ministers at Greenwich." The prize was awarded to _C. J. Billson_, for the following parody, which appeared in _The World_, for September 3rd, 1879:-- THE WHITEBAIT-EATERS. "COURAGE!" they said, and pointed through the gloom; "There is a haven in yon fishful clime." At dinner-time they came into a room, In which it seemèd all day dinner-time. All in the midst the banquet rose sublime, Whose _menu_ excellent no tongue might blame; And round about the board, without their Prime, Without their prime delight and chiefest fame, The mild-eyed muddle-headed whitebait-eaters came.