Lord Tommy is proud [20]
    That to Charty he vowed
The graces and gifts of a true man. 
    And proud are the friends
    Of Alfred, who blends [21]
The athlete, the hero, the woman!

    From the Gosford preserves
    Old st. John deserves [22]
Great praise for a bag such as Hilda; [22]
    True worth she esteemed,
    Overpowering he deemed
The subtle enchantment that filled her.

    Very dear are the pair,
    He so strong, she so fair,
Renowned as the TAPLOVITE WINNIES;
    Ah! he roamed far and wide,
    Till in Etty he spied [23]
A treasure more golden than guineas.

    Here is doll who has taught [24]
    Us that “words conceal thought”
In his case is a fallacy silly;
    Harry Cust could display [25]
    Scalps as many, I lay,
From Paris as in Piccadilly.

    But some there were too—­
    Thank the Lord they were few! 
Who were bidden to come and who could not: 
    Was there one of the lot,
    Ah!  I hope there was not,
Looked askance at the bidding and would not.

    The brave little Earl [26]
    Is away, and his pearl-
Laden spouse, the imperial Gladys; [26]
    By that odious gout
    Is lord Cowper knocked out. [27]
And the wife who his comfort and aid is. [27]

    Miss BETTY’S engaged,
    And we all are enraged
That the illness of SIBELL’S not over; [28]
    George Wyndham can’t sit [29]
    At our banquet of wit,
Because he is standing at Dover.

    But we ill can afford
    To dispense with the Lord
Of WADDESDON and ill Harry Chaplin; [30, 31]
    Were he here, we might shout
    As again he rushed out
From the back of that “d—­d big sapling.”

    We have lost lady gay [32]
    ’Tis a price hard to pay
For that Shah and his appetite greedy;
    And alas! we have lost—­
    At what ruinous cost!—­
The charms of the brilliant Miss D.D. [33]

    But we’ve got in their place,
    For a gift of true grace,
Virginia’s marvellous daughter. [34]
    Having conquered the States,
    She’s been blown by the Fates
To conquer us over the water.

    Now this is the sum
    Of all those who have come
Or ought to have come to that banquet. 
    Then call for the bowl,
    Flow spirit and soul,
Till midnight not one of you can quit!

    And blest by the Gang
    Be the Rhymester who sang
Their praises in doggrel appalling;
    More now were a sin—­
    Ho, waiters, begin! 
Each soul for consomme is calling!