My soul plebeian trips and fails
(See stanza first) alone.
I fall on low Bohemian ways,
I doff my evening black;
I dine in blazer all ablaze--
Oh, bring my Butler back!

I breakfast now and smoke in bed;
I wrench the bell for coals;
No master-hand and master-head
The day's routine controls.
No stately form in homage curved,
Our commissariat's lack,
Veneers with, "_Dinner, Sir, is served_"--
Oh, bring my Butler back!

A few old friends drop in at times,
But ah! their zest is gone;
No organ voice with awe sublimes
BROWN, JONES, and ROBINSON.
They sound to me quite commonplace,
Who seemed a ducal pack:
'Twas he who lent them rank and race--
Oh, bring my Butler back!

And _they_ must think me very queer,
Each unennobled guest:
I munch my chop, I quaff my beer
At meal-times unrepressed,
I laugh a laughter rude and loud;