If I have not trod the romantic path, blame me!
If it has been a man singing and not a bird —
If so the bird you be to curse, curse me
Poor Parrot! Then I will teach you another word!
If plain speech brings the blush beneath the dirt
I'm sorry if you hate the thing you heard —
But I meant that you should get it, classic and clear,
Between the eyes, or in the centre of the ear!
As plain as the " Burgess-gentleman" got his
In natural verses, or the " Ridiculous Miss",
These times require a tongue that naked goes,
Without more fuss than Dryden's or Defoe's.

The Bailiff billed in Number One " Fight-talk"
Was a curtain-raiser, to last a minute or two.
Song Two was a sketch of a critical cake-walk.
The romantic standpoint (a good standpoint too).
Song three was Me — the electric-hare that's Me —
A Me that blots out for the moment You.
Song Four was the lament of Not-to-be ,
Conveying that the Me alone is true!

Then what I've done, of that I know I've done,
Is to provide the pattern of a stave
To be the folk-song of your Number One,
Deep as the Many's and a good deal more brave.