Classic Poem

Sunt quos curriculo pulverem Olympicum

There are whose lives would fairly hum
If they might gather gold in some
Olympian curriculum
To rival " Venice " ;
Another lot, by fortune led,
The fervid wheel, the black and red,
Will break the bank or lose their head,
Like good St. Denis.

The merchant, timorous of whales,
Vicariously woos the gales,
With Argus-eye for magic sales
Of cornered cotton;
While some, untutored to be poor,
Pursue a claim for precious ore
In regions of the Martial Boer,
And find it rotten.

For me the green-room's cool retreat,
The shady scene, the shifting feet
Of busy nymphs that nimbly beat
The floor and frisk it;
But chiefly, great Augustus, may
I be where thy electric ray
Astonishes the milky way,
And takes the biscuit.

Give me a music-hall career,
With signed agreements for a clear
Two thousand pounds or so a year
To touch as salary;
Content with little, be it mine,
As lyrist in the comic line,
A star among the stars to shine,
And " knock " the gallery.