Only page of title Moderate
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Who, squinting in a painful way,
Remove (with grimy hands and grey)
The smuts upon your noses,
Come, follow me to Dover Street
Where, any moment, we may meet
Figures as fragrant and as sweet
As new-mown hay or roses,
Tripping along the primrose path
That leads each member to 'The Bath'!
To keep your features free from stain,
When in some matutinal train
To town you daily rush up,
Observe the cleanly creatures, please,
Who in this club recline at ease!
Existence for such men as these
Is one long 'Wash and Brush Up'!
Perfumed and scented, combed and curled,
They live unspotted of the world!
And dumb-bells twirled, by old and young;
Here 'horizontal bars' are hung
With eminent patricians;
And when, at times, on Sunday nights,
The lady-members (clad in tights),
From swimming-bath's sublimest heights,
Give diving exhibitions,
Tis 'Water, water ev'rywhere' --
And sopped spectators get their share!
And chest suggestive of an ox;
He comes to 'punch the ball' or box
With (possibly) Lord Desb'rough.
Observe that Admiral; though old,
He takes a daily plunge, I'm told,
Though when the water's rather cold
He very often says 'Brrrh! '
Or, if the suds get in his eyes,
'Here! What the _douche_! ' he crossly cries.
'Abandon Soap who enter here! '
Upon these walls does not appear,
To reassure the dirty;
But on the Turkish bathroom screen,
Pinned to a notice-board of green,
This statement, day by day, is seen:
'Pores Open, 7.30. '
Till Bishops at 'The Bath,' they say,
Are moved to murmur, 'Let us Spray!'
(Should opportunity arise)
That you should be extremely wise
And join this institution;
And thus, though deeming dumb-bells 'Bosh! '
And scorning hectic games of 'Squash,'
You may enjoy a thorough wash,
A top-to-toe ablution,
Nor die, in deep dejection plunged,
'Unsoapt, unlathered, and unsponged! '
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