PEPYS

Perchance when he was working on

The diary that bears his name

In those far days, now dead and gone,

He never dreamed about his fame.

Yet now, from time to time, it is

Heard from‘ most everybody's lips —

That magic, mellow name of his,

The soft and pleasing name of Pepys.

Again, when reading what he wrote,

We live anew that ancient time

( The book is one we often quote —

The cheap editions are a dime );

We mark his course through dingy streets

And climb with him the palace steps;

In fancy all of those one meets

Remark: “Why, there goes Mr. Pepys!”

He always had a seeing eye

And hearing ear, and what he saw

And what he heard he fain would try

To set down, but evade the law

And that is why in cipher dark

The tale originally creeps —

‘ Twas thus, also, he made his mark,

This man of truth and trouble, Pepys.

Throughout his life he had his griefs

And also had a little fun —

He kept his eye upon his chiefs

And tells the things they might have done

If they had not done what they did.

Ah, if each person now should keep his

Own diary and raise the lid

As did this honest Samuel Pepys!

And so, you see, he made a name

Whereon the critics sometimes pounce;

It hardly ever sounds the same,

It is so easy to pronounce.

But still, there is an hour or so

Of pleasure for the man who dips

Into his book and comes to know

Good Samuel Pepys, Peps or Pips.