The Girl and the Philosopher
As Kate went tripping up the town
(No lassie e’er looked prettier),
An “unco chiel” in cap and gown
(No mortal e’er looked grittier)
Accosted Kitty in the street,
As she was going to cross over,
And robb’d her of a kiss—the cheat,
Saying, “I’m a philosopher!”
“A what?” said Kitty, blushing red,
And gave his cap a toss over;
“Are you? Oh, phi!” and off she sped,
Whilst he bewail’d the “los-oph-er!”
“The learned lover, sir, who bewailed the ‘los-oph-er’(said a visitor, who now favoured us with his company) was the last man in the world to die of love. No man ever died of love, who did not kill himself; and no man ever killed himself, who knew what philosophy was. True philosophy may buy prussic-acid, but, like Tantalus, taste not a drop; true philosophy saunters to the Serpentine, and then saunters back to supper and a cigar. This,” said Dr. Bulgardo, L.S.D., “I shall endeavour to illustrate in a poetical tribute to