BALLADE OF THE NEW HUMOUR
WHEN you at ninety paces
Fill up a snipe with shot,
Find dons with pretty faces,
“ New” dramas with a plot,
Find money on a Scot,
Find beauty in a bloomer—
We'll read your little lot
And label it as humour.
You think to break our braces
With hidden jokes and hot ;
Kick over manners’ traces,
Reins tangle in the knot
Of Boredom—Never trot
Your spavined mare, but groom her!
You snigger at a sot,
And label him as humour.
Some pseudo-bloods at races,
Some scholar’s polyglot,
Some torpid Don’s grimaces,
Some spouting Hottentot ;
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