De Tea Fabula.

Plain Language from truthful James[1].      Do I sleep?    Do I dream?         Am I hoaxed by a scout?      Are things what they seem,         Or is Sophists about?      Is our "to ti en einai" a failure, or is Robert Browning played out?      Which expressions like these         May be fairly applied      By a party who sees         A Society skied      Upon tea that the Warden of Keble had biled with legitimate pride.     'Twas November the third,         And I says to Bill Nye,     'Which it's true what I've heard:         If you're, so to speak, fly,      There's a chance of some tea and cheap culture, the sort recommended as High.'      Which I mentioned its name,         And he ups and remarks:     'If dress-coats is the game         And pow-wow in the Parks,      Then I 'm nuts on Sordello and Hohenstiel-Schwangau and similar Snarks.'      Now the pride of Bill Nye         Cannot well be express'd;      For he wore a white tie         And a cut-away vest:      Says I, 'Solomon's lilies ain't in it, and they was reputed well dress'd.'      But not far did we wend,         When we saw Pippa pass      On the arm of a friend         --Doctor Furnivall 'twas,      And he wore in his hat two half-tickets for London, return, second-class.     'Well,' I thought, 'this is odd.'         But we came pretty quick      To a sort of a quad         That was all of red brick,      And I says to the porter,--'R. Browning: free passes; and kindly look slick.'      But says he, dripping tears         In his check handkerchief,     'That symposium's career's         Been regrettably brief,      For it went all its pile upon crumpets and busted on gunpowder-leaf!'      Then we tucked up the sleeves         Of our shirts (that were biled),      Which the reader perceives         That our feelings were riled,      And we went for that man till his mother had doubted the traits of her child.      Which emotions like these         Must be freely indulged      By a party who sees         A Society bulged      On a reef the existence of which its prospectus had never divulged.      But I ask,--Do I dream?          Has it gone up the spout?      Are things what they seem,         Or is Sophists about?      Is our "to ti en einai" a failure, or is Robert Browning played out?