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.