PEPYS

Perchance when he was working on The diary that bears his name In those far days, now dead and gone, He never dreamed about his fame.

Yet now, from time to time, it is Heard from‘ most everybody's lips — That magic, mellow name of his, The soft and pleasing name of Pepys.

Again, when reading what he wrote, We live anew that ancient time ( The book is one we often quote — The cheap editions are a dime );

We mark his course through dingy streets And climb with him the palace steps; In fancy all of those one meets Remark: “Why, there goes Mr. Pepys!”

He always had a seeing eye And hearing ear, and what he saw And what he heard he fain would try To set down, but evade the law

And that is why in cipher dark The tale originally creeps — ‘ Twas thus, also, he made his mark, This man of truth and trouble, Pepys.

Throughout his life he had his griefs And also had a little fun — He kept his eye upon his chiefs And tells the things they might have done

If they had not done what they did. Ah, if each person now should keep his Own diary and raise the lid As did this honest Samuel Pepys!

And so, you see, he made a name Whereon the critics sometimes pounce; It hardly ever sounds the same, It is so easy to pronounce.

But still, there is an hour or so Of pleasure for the man who dips Into his book and comes to know Good Samuel Pepys, Peps or Pips.