A Parisian Episode

Upon Bottle Miche the autre day     While yet the nuit was early,     Je met a homme whose barbe was grey,     Whose cheveaux long and curly.     "Je am a poete, sir," dit he,     "Je live where tres grande want teems     I'm faim, sir. Sil vous plait give me     Un franc or cinquatite centimes."     I donne him vingt big copper sous     But dit, "You moderne rhymers     The sacre poet name abuse     Les poets were old timers."     "Je know! I know!" he wept, contrite;     "The bards no more suis mighty:     Ils rise no more in eleve flight,     Though some are beaucoup flighty.     "Vous wonder why Je weep this way,     Pour quoi these tears and blubbers?     It is mon fault les bards today     Helas! suis mere earth-grubbers.     "There was a time when tout might see     My grande flights dans the saddle;     Crowned rois, indeed, applauded me     Le Pegasus astraddle.     "Le winged horse avec acclaim     Was voted mon possession;     Je rode him tous les jours to fame;     Je led the whole procession.     "Then arrivee the Prussian war     The siege the sacre famine     Then some had but a crust encore,     We mange the last least ham-an'     "Helas! Mon noble winged steed     Went oft avec no dinner;     On epics il refusee feed     And maigre grew, and thinner!     "Tout food was gone, and dans the street     Each homme sought crusts to sate him     Joyeux were those with horse's meat,     And Pegasus! Je ate him!"     My anger then Je could not hide     To parler scarcely able     "Oh! curses dans you, sir!" Je cried;     "Vous human livery stable!"     He fled! But vous who read this know     Why mon pauvre verse is beaten     By that of cinquante years ago     'Vant Pegasus fut eaten!