SIR CHARLES D'OYLEY.
Tom Raw the Griffin.
Now Mister Thomas Raw was so methodical,
That letters recommendatory he sorted
All alphabetically,—'tis a mode I call
Wise in a youth—we know not where he caught it.
Thus Mister A. was first to be resorted
To,—Mister Z. the very last of all.
His breakfast finished, and his best clothes sported,
To Buxoo, his factotum, loud the call
Of "Ticka-palkee," echoed through the punch-house hall.
Buxoo the mandate (quite artem secundum).
Immediately obeyed.—He knew the ahib logue,
In Town, Chowringhee, Allipore and Dumdum,
The offices, and Europe-shops in vogue,
Palmer and Co., and Davidson and Hogue;
In short, he'd shew his master all the lions;
Tom in his palkee tumbled, while the rogue
Became a peon,—each servitory science
Having well learnt and practised—out of sheer compliance.
Park Street they follow, and, at number three.
The Palkee stops—"Is Mister A. at home?"
Cries Tom—"Don't know," says Buxoo, "but I see;
"Ho! Durwan, ho!—ho! Durwanjee—he's dumb,
"He smoke his hookah, and he will not come."
"If there's a bell, go ring it with a vengeance,"
Replied his master, as he cocked his thumb.
The Durwan peeps, as he e'er peeps at plain gents,
And, yawning, proves you quite unworthy his attendance.