OR, THE NEW HAI

Prologue

M Y Boots had been wash'd — well wash'd — in a show'r;
But little I griev'd about that:
What I felt was the havock a single half-hour
Had made with my costly new Hat.

For the Boot, tho' its lustre be dimm'd, shall assume
Fresh sprightliness after a while:
But what art may restore its original bloom,
When once it hath flown, to the Tile?

I clomb to my perch, and the Horses (a bay
And a brown) trotted off with a clatter:
The Driver look'd round in his affable way
And said huskily " Who is your hatter? "

I was pleas'd that he'd notic'd its shape and its shine,
And as soon as we reached the Old Druid
I begg'd that he'd drink to my new Four-and-nine
In a glass of his favourite Fluid.

A gratified smile sat, I own, on my lips
When the Landlady called to the Master
(He was standing hard by with his hands on his hips)
To " look at the gentleman's Castor! "

I laugh'd, as an Organ-man paus'd in mid-air
('Twas an air that I happen'd to know
By a great foreign Maestro) expressly to stare
At ze gent wiz ze joli chapeau .

Yet how swift is the transit from laughter to tears!
Our glories, how fleeting are they!
That Hat might (with care) have adorned me for years;
But 'twas ruin'd, alack, in a Day!

How I lov'd thee, my Bright One! I wrench in Remorse
My hands from my Coat-tail and wring 'em:
" Why did not I, why, as a matter of course,
When I purchas'd thee, purchase a Gingham! "