“Not where garish lights are gleaming, Not in brilliant banquet-hall, Not where waiters, silent, solemn, Make the gaudy grandeur pall; Not where wine is so expensive That your very thirst seems crime, And to ‘wet your whistle’ often Is a recklessness sublime; But for us a quiet corner In a side-street, down a stair, _Vive Bohème_ and _Vive La Ria_! Who would be a millionnaire? Here are brains, served up _en bon mot_, Here’s spaghetti, piping hot; Here’s a crowd of jolly fellows, Well contented with their lot. Mayhap, as the feast progresses, And the wine flows with the wit, Visions come, and fancy whispers ’Tis a palace where we sit. ’Tis the palace Macaroni, Built in ages long ago By a count of many titles, Where the waves of Tiber flow. How we got there doesn’t matter. Maraschino? Yes--a drop. Thanks! a little bit of cognac? Just a trifle, on the top. And the palace by the Tiber, Where we dine to-night in state, Here it was Count Macaroni Met his most heart-rending fate. ’Twas when Rome was in a ferment, As she used to be at times-- Strange how black that ancient city Is with undiscovered crimes-- Then it was that Macaroni Princess Gorgonzola met-- Yes, methinks your face is like her, Seen beyond this cigarette. Gorgonzola, she was charming, Black-eyed maiden, ripe to fall In the arms of Love, if mother Let her get beyond her call. Macaroni, Gorgonzola, They were such a handsome pair That in strolling by the Tiber E’en the boatmen had to stare. Well, where am I? In La Ria’s? No; Saint Peter knows I’m not. Just another sip of cognac? Thanks--it reached the very spot. Well, the Count and Gorgonzola By a villain were pursued, Prince Spaghetti was his title-- Scion of an evil brood. Prince Spaghetti loved the maiden In a weird and wicked way, And he swore that Macaroni Must forswear the light of day. Thus he mixed a potent poison In a glass of ruby wine-- Yes, I’ll light one more perfecto-- Gad, I think the earth is mine! One more little sip of cognac? Thanks, I cannot say thee nay; Well--where was I? Oh, Spaghetti Macaroni meant to slay. Did I kill him? Say, my fair one, You with Gorgonzola’s eyes, Did I make him drink the poison? Answer--you who were the prize. Well, the tale is nearly ended-- Strange that I should live to-night, Dining in La Ria’s with you. Thanks! that cognac’s out of sight.”