No card-games are played here, and even 'Old Maid' here Its votaries find uninviting; You might get a quorum for (say) 'Snip-snap-_snorem_,' But 'Patience' is deemed too exciting; While rubbers of Bridge (should you chance to require some) With partners all 'sleeping' prove terribly tiresome! These precincts hypnotic provide a narcotic, And trav'llers (all subterfuge scorning) Curl up on their quarters, and tell the hall-porters To call them next Saturday morning; And even explorers, their rambles arrested, Become as 'Club-footed' as some one suggested! CANTO IX 'THE BATH' Ye citizens of common clay Who, squinting in a painful way, Remove (with grimy hands and grey) The smuts upon your noses, Come, follow me to Dover Street Where, any moment, we may meet Figures as fragrant and as sweet As new-mown hay or roses, Tripping along the primrose path That leads each member to 'The Bath'! Ye breadwinners, who seek in vain To keep your features free from stain, When in some matutinal train To town you daily rush up, Observe the cleanly creatures, please, Who in this club recline at ease! Existence for such men as these Is one long 'Wash and Brush Up'! Perfumed and scented, combed and curled, They live unspotted of the world! Here Indian clubs are deftly swung, And dumb-bells twirled, by old and young; Here 'horizontal bars' are hung With eminent patricians; And when, at times, on Sunday nights, The lady-members (clad in tights), From swimming-bath's sublimest heights, Give diving exhibitions, Tis 'Water, water ev'rywhere'-- And sopped spectators get their share! Observe that youth, with purple socks And chest suggestive of an ox; He comes to 'punch the ball' or box With (possibly) Lord Desb'rough. Observe that Admiral; though old, He takes a daily plunge, I'm told, Though when the water's rather cold He very often says 'Brrrh!' Or, if the suds get in his eyes, 'Here! What the _douche_!' he crossly cries. That warning, to the sloven dear: 'Abandon Soap who enter here!' Upon these walls does not appear, To reassure the dirty; But on the Turkish bathroom screen, Pinned to a notice-board of green, This statement, day by day, is seen: 'Pores Open, 7.30.' Till Bishops at 'The Bath,' they say, Are moved to murmur, 'Let us Spray!' Then, Gentle Reader, I advise (Should opportunity arise) That you should be extremely wise And join this institution; And thus, though deeming dumb-bells 'Bosh!' And scorning hectic games of 'Squash,' You may enjoy a thorough wash, A top-to-toe ablution, Nor die, in deep dejection plunged, 'Unsoapt, unlathered, and unsponged!' SONGS IN SEASON NEW YEAR'S EVE