Classic Poem

The beauteous Ethel's father has a
Newly painted front piazza—
He has a
Piazza;
When with tobacco juice 'twas tainted
They had the front piazza painted—
That tainted
Piazza painted.

Algernon called that night, perchance,
Arrayed in comely sealskin pants—
That night, perchance,
In gorgeous pants;
Engaging Ethel in a chat
On that piazza down he sat—
In chat,
They sat.

And when an hour or two had pass'd,
He tried to rise, but oh! stuck fast—
At last
Stuck fast!
Fair Ethel shrieked, “It is the paint!”
And fainted in a deadly faint—
This saint
Did faint.

Algernon sits there till this day—
He cannot tear himself away,—
Away?
Nay, nay!
His pants are firm, the paint is dry—
He's nothing else to do but die—