Page:Mr. Punch's Book of Sports.djvu/128

Mr. Punch's Book of Sports I asked him why he sat and stared

At all the passers-by,

And why on ladies young and fair

He turned his watery eye.

He looked at me without a word,

And then—it really was absurd—

The man began to cry.

But when his rugged sobs were stayed—

It made my heart rejoice—

He said that of the young and fair

He sought to make a choice.

He was an artist, it appeared—

I might have guessed it by his beard,

Or by his gurgling voice.

His aim in life was to procure

A model fit to paint

As "Beauty on a Pedestal,"

Or "Figure of a Saint."

But every woman seemed to be

As crooked as a willow tree

His metaphors were quaint.

"And have you not observed," he asked,

"That all the girls you meet

Have either 'Hockey elbows' or

Ungainly 'Cycling feet'?

Their backs are bent, their faces red,

From 'Cricket stoop,' or 'Football head.'"

He spoke to me with heat.