There was a pause; but in an instant the Younger Master had sprung on to a velvet _fauteuil_, and, thrumming the back of an _entrée_ dish as an impromptu lyre, with a high-piped treble cry of “I’ll tell you,” had soon sufficiently and signally silenced the Elder with the following unsung and understudied Ode:―― “You are he who,――ere upon my noisome nurses Large limbèd lap I coughed my first shrieked shrill-throated choke of curses, In pulp of pap,―― Rose in reek made rich of decomposing matter Round kinglets curled, To greet with white-soul’d yell of ‘Yah!――who’s your hatter?’ An out-wash’d world: “You who, with a wind of words in thuds of thunder, Of sense made hash; Blind, yet bleating in the blaze of your own blunder Whole yards of trash; By your posing――your back somersaults of error That no one fire,―― By the frenzy and the cry of loud-tongued terror Your jokes inspire; By the promise of your early dawn reversèd Clean upside down, By your curst cloy of Pantomime, and thrice accursèd Cat-call for Clown; “By the pasteboard heads that, beaten in in places, Smile on in pain, By sightless eyes and worsted hair, by large, mild faces,―― By Drury Lane; By all frolic, freak and fooling, food for laughter, Nor said nor sung, When next on spouting bent――pity your hereafter, _And hold your tongue!_” * * * * * _Punch._ December 2, 1882. ――――:o:―――― In 1883, Messrs. Chatto and Windus published a small quarto volume, entitled “_A Century of Roundels_,” by Algernon Charles Swinburne. Very soon afterwards, there was a parody competition on these little poems in _The Weekly Dispatch_, which published the following imitations on July 1, 1883. The prize of two guineas was awarded to Mr. Henry William Hancock for:―― FAR-FETCHED AND DEAR-BOUGHT! Far-fetched and dear-bought, sure this volume of verse is, Tho’ ever as clever in rhythm and thought; And yet tho’ a master each roundel rehearses, Far-fetched and dear-bought! Tho’ perfect in beauty each ditty is wrought, Monotony much admiration disperses; Ye gods! a whole hundred! Is Swinburne distraught? The appetite cloyed e’er with dainties far worse is Than hunger that waits till one’s dinner is caught; So this is my verdict condemning these verses―― Far-fetched and dear-bought! _Highly commended._ ULYSSES. What gain were mine if I should anchor cast And soothe my senses with these songs divine When I had wearied of the sweet repast, What gain were mine? Save for my skill, ye yet were Circe’s swine, And barking Scylla safe I led you past―― And past Charybdis, ambushed in the brine.