Gracious Heavens! When I think of all the cackle I have turned out for the heroes of the Halls!!! No wonder that the task I've now to tackle-- Something new and smart for TRICKSY TRIP!--appals. I have tried three several songs--and had to "stock 'em," She's imperative; her last Great Hit's played out, And she wants "a new big thing that's bound to knock 'em." And "she'd like it by return of post!"--No doubt!!! She does four turns a night, and rakes the shekels; She sports a suit of sables and a brougham. Five years ago a lanky girl, with freckles, First fetched 'em with my hit, "_The Masher Groom_." And now her limbs spread pink on all the posters, And now she drives her pony-chaise--and Me! Poet-Laureate? I should like to set the boasters The tasks I have to try for "TRICKSY T." I am vivid, I am various, I am versatile; I did "_Up to the Nines_" for DANDY DOBBS, And "_Smacky-Smack_" for "TIDDLUMS,"--Isn't _hers_ a tile?-- "_Salvation Sue_"--the stiffest of stiff jobs-- For roopy-raspy-voiced and vain "OEOLIA," Who dubs herself the SCHNEIDER-PATTI BLEND; And now, a prey to stone-broke melancholia, I sit and rack my fancy, to no end! My ink runs dry, my wits seem gone wool-gathering; And yet I know that over half the town _My_ "stuff" the Stars are blaring, bleating, blathering, Sacking a tenner where I pouch a crown. I know that my--anonymous--smart verses, Are piling oof for middlemen in sacks, My verse brings pros. seal-coats and well-stuffed purses My back care bows, whilst profits lade _their_ backs. If you'll show me any "Poet" more prolific, If you'll point to any "patterer" more smart, One whose "patriotic" zeal is more terrific, Who can give me at snide slang the slightest start, Who can fit a swell, a toff, a cad, a coster, At the very shortest notice, as _I_ can, Why, unless he is a swaggering impostor, I will gladly hail him as the Coming Man! But he'll have to be a dab at drunken drivel, And he'll have to be a daisy at sick gush, To turn on the taps of swagger and of snivel, Raise the row-de-dow heel-chorus and hot flush. He must know the taste of sensual young masher, As well as that of aitch-omitting snob; And then--well, I'll admit he _is_ a dasher, Who, as Laureate (of the Halls) is "on the job!" [_Left lamenting._ * * * * * THE MAN FROM BLANKLEY'S. A STORY IN SCENES