This Pen of mine is simply grand,

I never loved a pen so much;

This Paper (underneath my hand)

Is really a delight to touch;

And never in my life, I think,

Did I make use of finer ink.

The Subject upon which I write

Is everything that I could choose;

I seldom knew my Wits more bright,

More cosmopolitan my Views;

Nor ever did my Head contain

So surplus a supply of Brain!


PERVERTED PROVERBS A MANUAL OF IMMORALS FOR THE MANY 1903