For a week from ten to four
I was fastened to the floor,
While a mercenary wopped me with a will!
They branded me, and broke me on a wheel,
And they left me in an hospital to heal;
And, upon my solemn word,
I have never never heard
What those Tartars had determined to reveal.
But that day of sorrow, misery, and rage,
I shall carry to the Catacombs of Age,
Photographically lined
On the tablet of my mind,
When a yesterday has faded from its page!
_W.S. Gilbert_.
FERDINANDO AND ELVIRA, OR THE GENTLE PIEMAN
* * * * *
"Love you?" said I, then I sighed, and then I gazed upon her
sweetly--
For I think I do this sort of thing particularly neatly--
"Tell me whither I may his me, tell me, dear one, that I may know--
Is it up the highest Andes? down a horrible volcano?"
But she said, "It isn't polar bears, or hot volcanic grottoes,
Only find out who it is that writes those lovely cracker mottoes."
Seven weary years I wandered--Patagonia, China, Norway,
Till at last I sank exhausted, at a pastrycook his doorway.
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