Volume 156 — TO MY DRESS SUIT.
Reading edition
Old friend, well met! I've longed for this reunion; You've been the lodestar of this storm-tossed ship In those long hours which poets call Communion With one's own Soul, and common folk the Pip. The foe might rage, the Brigadier might bluster. Was I down-hearted? No! My spirit soared And dreamt of you and me with blended lustre Gracing some well-spread and convivial board. And what if now you fit askew where erstwhile Fair lines bewrayed a figure not too svelte? What if your shoulder-seams are like to burst, while A sad hiatus shows beneath the belt? As April fills the buds to shapely beauty, As cooks fill Robert with plum-cake and tea, So, it may be, a diet rich and fruity May fill the gap that sunders you from me. And if it fail, as I'm a, living sinner I'll save you from the gaze of scornful eyes. They say that Bolsheviks don't dress for dinner; I'll off to Petrograd and Bolshevize.
The Mayor. "THE CONTENTS OF THE PURSE WILL IN TIME INEVITABLY DISAPPEAR; BUT (laying his hand on the clock) HERE IS SOMETHING WHICH WILL NEVER GO."
