"
My soul plebeian trips and fails
(See stanza first) alone.
I fall on low Bohemian ways,
I doff my evening black;
I dine in blazer all ablaze--
Oh, bring my Butler back!
I breakfast now and smoke in bed;
I wrench the bell for coals;
No master-hand and master-head
The day's routine controls.
No stately form in homage curved,
Our commissariat's lack,
Veneers with, "_Dinner, Sir, is served_"--
Oh, bring my Butler back!
A few old friends drop in at times,
But ah! their zest is gone;
No organ voice with awe sublimes
BROWN, JONES, and ROBINSON.
They sound to me quite commonplace,
Who seemed a ducal pack:
'Twas he who lent them rank and race--
Oh, bring my Butler back!
And _they_ must think me very queer,
Each unennobled guest:
I munch my chop, I quaff my beer
At meal-times unrepressed,
I laugh a laughter rude and loud;
My little jokes I crack;
The parlour-maid with mirth is bowed--
Oh, bring my Butler back!
Yes! bring that paragon to me--
'Tis true he drank my wine;
But, as I found it disagree,
I don't so much repine:
'Tis true we missed a little plate
When _he_ gave _us_ the sack.
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