Volume 102 — VENICE AT OLYMPIA.

O Jane, thou jewel of my heart— Thou object of my hopeless passion, Though Fate decrees that we must part, I'll leave thee in some novel fashion! I will not do as others do When cheated of prospective bridal, And quit the Bridge of Waterloo With header swift and suicidal. I will not seek—as others seek— Some public-house in mean and low street, And drink—till haled before the Beak Who patiently presides at Bow Street. I will not throw—as others throw— My manly form, without compunction, Before the frequent trains that go At lightning speed through Clapham Junction. For though my spirit seeks escape From all the carking cares that vex it, I will not plunge thee into crape By any ordinary exit: So when—in slang—I "take my hook," Detesting all that's mean and skimpy, a Reserved and numbered seat I'll book, And hie to Venice at Olympia. I'll see the Show that draws the town— Its pageantry delight affording— As per the details noted down Where posters flame on every hoarding; And then the sixpence I will pay, Which in my pocket now I'm fondling, And try upon the water-way The new experience of gondling. I know that death will seem delight When in the gondola I'm seated, For up to sixty Fahrenheit The Grand Canal is nicely heated; So—sick of life's incessant storm, Impatient of its kicks and pinches— I'll plunge within the water warm, And drown—in four-and-twenty inches!