AN ORATOR'S COMPLAINT

How many the troubles that wait

On mortals!— especially those

Who endeavour in eloquent prose

To expound their views, and orate.

Did you ever attempt to speak

When you had n't a word to say?

Did you find that it would n't pay,

And subside, feeling dreadfully weak?

Did you ever, when going ahead

In a fervid defence of the Stage,

Get checked in your noble rage

By somehow losing your thread?

Did you ever rise to reply

To a toast ( say‘ The Volunteers’ ),

And evoke loud laughter and cheers,

When you did n't exactly know why?

Did you ever wax witty, and when

You had smashed an opponent quite small,

Did he seem not to mind it at all,

But get up and smash you again?

If any or all of these things

Have happened to you ( as to me ),

I think you'll be found to agree

With yours truly, when sadly he sings:

‘ How many the troubles that wait

On mortals!— especially those

Who endeavour in eloquent prose

To expound their views, and orate.’