Trotter of the Globe who trottest Up and down in every clime, From the coldest to the hottest—Listen to my simple rhyme.
Thou who seekest pleasure, taking Dollars from thy father's tills, Dollars which he earned 10 making Soap, or antibilious pills.
Sadly Egypt sees thee crawling Up the landmarks of her race, Scaling Cheap's tomb and scrawling "Smith—and pal," upon its face.
Sadly India sees thee linger By her holy Ganges' tide, Pointing out with ribald finger Spots described in Murray's Guide.
Sad the Japanese who sees thy Curious hat and awful clothes, Feeling that no art can please thy Taste, which nought but shoddy knows.
Gentle trotter, I would pray thee, Keep away from China's shore—And other land will pay thee, For thy time and trouble, more.
All our Treaty Ports are sleepy. Searcely worthy of abuse; Not the sort of place to keep a Diary for future use.
No! we have no startling wonders, Nothing really fit to show, And our most authentic Bunders Have been published years ago.
Trotter-of the Globe! thy legions Swarm now yearly worse and worse If it keep thee from these regions Not in vain my humble verse.
From "Lays and Plays."
By Tune Cata (J. O. P. Braun)
Text read from the printed page and cleaned; old type leaves the occasional error.