Mooning 'midst metaphysical supposes;
Twirling a huge moustache, superbly waxed,
And taking pride in slitting comrades' noses.
You'll meet him--as a Muscovite--dead set
On making civic life a sombre Hades,
Shaking a knife with tyrant's blood red-wet,
Or--aping "Paris-goods" in art, dress, ladies.
You'll spy him--as a Yankee--gassing loud
About his pride, and yet chin-deep in snobbery;
Leaving State matters to corruption's crowd,
And justifying (literary) robbery.
Whilst as a Briton! Bless us, 'twould take time
To picture _Homo_ in his guise Britannic.
Here he is making a fine art of crime,
There he is fussing in a Puritan panic;
Here with MCMUCK he plays the prurient spy,
And there with OSCAR in a paroxysm
Of puerile paradox spreads to Cultchaw's eye
The fopperies of "Artistic Hedonism"!
Oh, EVANS, noting Man (_not_ Tertiary)
In Church or State, the Studio or the Tavern,
One wonders--not was he contemporary
With Danish Kjökkenmöddings or Kent's Cavern,--
No, thinking of his work with Swords, Tongues, Pens,
Of most of which Wisdom would make a clearance,
One wonders whether _Homo Sapiens_
Has really truly _yet_ made his appearance!

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