Do I sleep? Do I dream? Am I hoaxed by a scout? Are things what they seem, Or is Sophists about?
Is our “to ti en einai” a failure, or is Robert Browning played out? Which expressions like these May be fairly applied By a party who sees
A Society skied Upon tea that the Warden of Keble had biled with legitimate pride. ‘ Twas November the third, And I says to Bill Nye,
‘ Which it's true what I've heard: If you're, so to speak, fly, There's a chance of some tea and cheap culture, the sort recommended as High.’ Which I mentioned its name,
And he ups and remarks: ‘ If dress-coats is the game And pow-wow in the Parks, Then I‘ m nuts on Sordello and Hohenstiel-Schwangau and similar
Snarks.’ Now the pride of Bill Nye Cannot well be express'd; For he wore a white tie
And a cut-away vest: Says I,‘ Solomon's lilies ai n't in it, and they was reputed well dress'd.’ But not far did we wend, When we saw Pippa pass
On the arm of a friend — Doctor Furnivall‘ twas, And he wore in his hat two half-tickets for London, return, second-class. ‘ Well,’ I thought,‘ this is odd.’
But we came pretty quick To a sort of a quad That was all of red brick, And I says to the porter,—‘ R. Browning: free passes; and kindly look slick.’
But says he, dripping tears In his check handkerchief, ‘ That symposium's career's Been regrettably brief,
For it went all its pile upon crumpets and busted on gunpowder-leaf!’ Then we tucked up the sleeves Of our shirts ( that were biled ), Which the reader perceives
That our feelings were riled, And we went for that man till his mother had doubted the traits of her child. Which emotions like these Must be freely indulged
By a party who sees A Society bulged On a reef the existence of which its prospectus had never divulged. But I ask,— Do I dream?
Has it gone up the spout? Are things what they seem, Or is Sophists about? Is our “to ti en einai” a failure, or is Robert Browning played out?
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