Prolific authors, noble three,
I do my derby off to ye.
_Selected_, dear old chap, who knows
The quantity of verse and prose
That you have signed in all these years!
You've dulled how many thousand shears!
You've filled, at a tremendous rate,
A million miles of "boiler plate"--
A wreath of laurel for your brow!
A stirrup-cup to you--here's how!
And you, dear _Ibid_. Ah, you wrote
Too many things for me to quote,
Though Bartlett, of quotation fame,
Plays up your unpoetic name
More than he did to Avon's bard.
Your stuff's on every page, old pard.
Bouquets to you the writer flings;
You wrote a lot of dandy things.
And you, O last, O greatest one,
A word with you, and I have done
Your, dear _Exchange_, that ever floats
Around with verses, anecdotes,
And jokes. Oh, what a lot you sign
(Quite frequently a thing of mine).
Why, it would not be very strange
If I should see this signed--_Exchange_.
O favourite authors, wondrous three,
I do my derby off to ye!
