Soon after Oscar left Oxford "Punch" began to caricature him and ridicule the
cult of what it christened "The Too Utterly Utter." Nine Englishmen out of ten
took delight in the savage contempt poured upon what was known euphemistically
as "the aesthetic craze" by the pet organ of the English middle class.

This was the sort of thing "Punch" published under the title of "A Poet's Day":

"Oscar at Breakfast! Oscar at Luncheon!!
Oscar at Dinner!!! Oscar at Supper!!!!"

"'You see I am, after all, mortal,' remarked the poet, with an ineffable affable
smile, as he looked up from an elegant but substantial dish of ham and eggs.
Passing a long willowy hand through his waving hair, he swept away a stray
curl-paper, with the nonchalance of a D'Orsay.

"After this effort Mr. Wilde expressed himself as feeling somewhat faint; and
with a half apologetic smile ordered another portion of Ham and Eggs."

"Punch"'s verses on the subject were of the same sort, showing spite rather
than humour. Under the heading of "Sage Green" (by a fading-out aesthete) it
published such stuff as this:

My love is as fair as a lily flower.
("The Peacock blue has a sacred sheen!")
Oh, bright are the blooms in her maiden bower.
("Sing Hey! Sing Ho! for the sweet Sage Green!")
. . . . . . . . . . . . .
And woe is me that I never may win;
("The Peacock blue has a sacred sheen!")
For the Bard's hard up, and she's got no tin.