Old is the song that I sing, Old as my unpaid bills, Old as the chicken that khitmutgars bring Men at dak-bungalows, old as the Hills. Ahasuerus Jenkins of the "Operatic Own," Was dowered with a tenor voice of super-Santley tone. His views on equitation were, perhaps, a trifle queer. He had no seat worth mentioning, but oh! he had an ear. He clubbed his wretched company a dozen times a day; He used to quit his charger in a parabolic way; His method of saluting was the joy of all beholders, But Ahasuerus Jenkins had a head upon his shoulders. He took two months at Simla when the year was at the spring, And underneath the deodars eternally did sing. He warbled like a bul-bul but particularly at Cornelia Agrippina, who was musical and fat. She controlled a humble husband, who, in turn, controlled a Dept. Where Cornelia Agrippina′s human singing-birds were kept From April to October on a plump retaining-fee, Supplied, of course, per mensem, by the Indian Treasury. Cornelia used to sing with him, and Jenkins used to play; He praised unblushingly her notes, for he was false as they; So when the winds of April turned the budding roses brown, Cornelia told her husband: "Tom, you mustn′t send him down." They haled him from his regiment, which didn′t much regret him; They found for him an office-stool, and on that stool they set him To play with maps and catalogues three idle hours a day, And draw his plump retaining-fee which means his double pay. Now, ever after dinner, when the coffee-cups are brought, Ahasuerus waileth o′er the grand pianoforte; And, thanks to fair Cornelia, his fame hath waxen great, And Ahasuerus Jenkins is a Power in the State!
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