Chapter XIII: Barmaid

Though, if you ask her name, she says _ELISE_, Being plain _ELIZABETH_, e'en let it pass, And own that, if her aspirates take their ease, She ever makes a point, in washing glass, Handling the engine, turning taps for _tots_, And countering change, and scorning what men say, Of posing as a dove among the pots, Nor often gives her dignity away. Her head's a work of art, and, if her eyes Be tired and ignorant, she has a waist; Cheaply the Mode she shadows; and she tries From penny novels to amend her taste; And, having mopped the zinc for certain years, And faced the gas, she fades and disappears. _The Artist muses at his ease_, _Contented that his work is done_, _And smiling_--_smiling_!--_as he sees_ _His crowd collecting_, _one by one_. _Alas_! _his travail's but begun_! _None_, _none can keep the years in line_, _And what to Ninety-Eight is fun_ _May raise the gorge of Ninety-Nine_!

MUSWELL HILL, 1898.

III. THREE PROLOGUES