Prologue



Did some one ask if I am on the job?
I sure am to the pay-roll with my lay,
A hot tabasco-poultice which will stay
Close to the ribs and answer throb-to-throb.
Here have I chewed my Music from the cob
And followed Passion from the get-away
Past the big Grand Stand where the Pousse-Café
Christens my Muse as Jennie-on-the-Daub.

Hark ye, all marks who break the Pure Fool Law,
How I, the Windy Wonder of the Age,
Have fought the Tender Passion to a draw
And got my mug upon the Sporting Page,
Since Love and I collided at the curve
And left me with a Dislocated Nerve.