The Call of the Congo

I go as a rule

At the coming of Yule,

To a place where the sunshine's obtrusive ;

At Hydros I'm found,

Where dyspeptics abound,

And massage and physic's inclusive ;

Or a shelter I grace

In some fashion-plate place

Where the giddy and frivolous throng go,

But to Fashion adieu,

If the rumour is true

They're reducing the fares on the Congo.

Each English resort

Will lack my support,

Nor do Cannes or Mentone intrigue me.

I see the same faces

At watering places,

And the places and faces fatigue me.

But I now can afford

To career like a lord

To the land of the palm and the mango ;

To the Tropics I'll ship

For a cheap little trip,

A week end at warm Wango-wango.

Eluding the net

Of my usual set

And the hump that it constantly gave me,

The lies and the smirks

Of refinement that irks

In the Jellala Falls I will leave me.

In a place I will stay

That is called O-go-way,

I will shake by the hand the Obongo,

And with vigour renewed

I shall come back imbued

With the charms that are cheap on the Congo.