( SUGGESTED BY MR. MAX BEERBOHM )

O youth uncouth, who slouchest by,

Along the crowded public street,

An eyeglass in thy languid eye,

Brown boots upon thy feet,

A loose umbrella in thy grip,

A toothpick pendent from thy lip.

Much I deplore thy clumsy gait,

Thy drab sartorial display,

So wholly inappropriate

To this august highway;

How can a man in such attire

Set any spinster's heart on fire?

Thou art in dress no epicure,

By weight of fashions overladen;

Thy tawdry togs do not allure

The soul of every maiden;

They sound no echoing color-note

To her tempestuous petticoat.

Her stylish skirt, her dainty blouse,

Are crepe-de-chine, or bombazine;

Compare the texture of thy trous:

With their chromatic sheen;

To what abysm of taste we reach

By the Observance of thy Breech!

Think what she pays her modiste for

Those hats of questionable shapes,

Surmounted by a seagull or

Some imitation grapes!

Small wonder she receives a shock

Each time she views thy “billycock”!

Observe how like an autumn leaf

The colors of the male canary,

The garb of each New Zealand chief

Who woos his Little Maori;

The savage mind has thus designed

A dress to please its womankind.

And tho’ I would not have thee go

As far as primal man or beast,

To lovely woman thou should'st show

Some deference at least,

And give a thought of what to wear

Upon the public thoroughfare.

And should'st thou wish to walk aright,

Let Mr. Beerbohm be thy mould;

Sedate yet courtly, and polite

As any beau of old;

Yea, plant thy footsteps in the tracks

Of our inimitable Max!

Enclose thy larynx in a stock

( As though afflicted with the fever );

And in the place of “billycock”

Procure a bristling “beaver”;

And practise, not I hope in vain,

The “conduct of a clouded cane.”

If thou consentest thus to act,

In scorn of popular convention,

Thy bearing shall indeed attract

Much feminine attention;

As day by day, in brilliant hue,

Thy figure fills Fifth Avenue.