XII

5 0 00

XII

One morn whilst yet in bed he lay,

His valet brings him letters three.

What, invitations? The same day

As many entertainments be!

A ball here, there a children’s treat,

Whither shall my rapscallion flit?

Whither shall he go first? He’ll see,

Perchance he will to all the three.

Meantime in matutinal dress

And hat surnamed a “Bolivar”

He hies unto the “Boulevard,”

To loiter there in idleness

Until the sleepless Bréguet chime

Announcing to him dinner-time.