"And I am thinking of a plan
For artificial hens,
And automatic dairy-maids,
And self-propelling pens."
"Such things are stale," I made reply,
"They're old, and flat, and thin.
Tell me the last thing in your pate,
Or I will cave it in!"
His accents mild took up the tale:
He said, "I've tried to make
A sirloin out of turnips, and
A vegetable steak."
I shook him well, from side to side,
To stimulate his brain;
"You've got some newer dodge," I cried,
"And that you must explain."
He said, "I always willingly
Do anything to please.
What do you say to growing grapes
That taste like strawberr-ees!
They're showing off at Chiswick now,
As I a sinner am,
Some big black Hamburgs which, when pressed,
Taste just like raspberry jam."
So now whene'er I drink a glass
Of wine that seems like rum,
Or peel myself an orange that
Reminds me of a plum,
Or if I come across a peach
With flavour like a bilberry,
I weep, for it reminds me so
Of Chiswick's Grape and Dahlia Show,
And that 'cute man I used to know,
Who could at will transform a sloe
Into a thing with the aro-
-ma of all fruits known here below,
From apricot to mulberry.
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