Each roving bee has fits of glee
When the Swank goes by that way.
But every Glug, he makes his bow,
And says, "Just watch him! Watch him now!
He must have thousands in the bank!
The Swank! The Swank! The holy Swank!"
But the wild winds snatch his kerchief out,
And buffet him about.



VIII. THE SEER

Somewhere or other, 'tis doubtful where,
In the archives of Gosh is a volume rare,
A precious old classic that nobody reads,
And nobody asks for, and nobody heeds;
Which makes it a classic, and famed thro' the land,
As well-informed persons will quite understand.

'Tis a ponderous work, and 'tis written in prose,
For some mystical reason that nobody knows;
And it tells in a style that is terse and correct
Of the rule of the Swanks and its baneful effect
On the commerce of Gosh, on its morals and trade;
And it quotes a grave prophecy somebody made.

And this is the prophecy, written right bold
On a parchment all tattered and yellow and old;
So old and so tattered that nobody knows