Well, here I'm back from Mashonaland!
Mine's hardly a proud position.
My ideas in going were vaguely grand,
And--look at my present condition!

I may cool my heels on this packing-case;
'Tis a little mite like _me_, Sir!
Say my "candid friends," as they watch my face,
"O.I.C.U.R.M.T., Sir!"

I'm the prodigal GRANDY-PANDY, oh!
Returned to my native landy, oh!
With a big moustache, and but little cash,
Though the latter would come in handy, oh!
Like the nursery Jack-a-dandy, oh!
I may "love plum-cake and candy," oh!
But tarts and toffies, or sweets of office,
Seem not--at present--for GRANDY, oh!

Well, I chucked them up,--was it _nous_ or _pique_?
_Is_ the prodigal worst of ninnies?
The fatted calf, and the better half
Of his father's love--and guineas,--
May fall to his share as he homeward lies,
When the husks have lost their flavour.
_My_ calf? Well, it does not greet my eyes,
And I don't yet sniff its savour.
I'm a prodigal GRANDY-PANDY, oh!
Retired from Mashona-landy, oh!
I'm left like a laggard. Grim RIDER HAGGARD