He was barewe dont want to be rude
(His condition was owing to drink)
They say his condition was nood,
Which amounts to the same thing, we think
(We mean his condition, we think,
Twas a naked condition, or nood,
Which amounts to the same thing, we think)
Uncovered he lay on the grass
That shrivelled and shrunk; and he stayed
Three hot summer days, while the glass
Was one hundred and ten in the shade.
(We nearly remarked that he laid,
But that was bad grammar we thought
It does sound bucolic, we think
It smacks of the barnyard
Of farmingof pullets in short.)
Unheeded he lay on the dirt;
Beside him a part of his dress,
A tattered and threadbare old shirt
Was raised as a flag of distress.
(On a stick, like a flag of distress
Reversedwe mean that the tail-end was up
half-maston a stickan evident flag of distress.)
Perhaps in his dreams he persood
Bright visions of heavnly bliss;
And artists who study the nood
Never saw such a study as this.
The luggage went by and the guard
Looked out and his eyes fell on Grice
We fancy he looked at him hard,
We think that he looked at him twice.
They say (if the telegrams true)
When he woke up he wondered (good Lord!)
Why the engine-man didnt heave to
Why the train didnt take him aboard.
And now, by the case of poor Grice,
We think that a daily express
Should travel with sunshades and ice,
And a lookout for flags of distress.
