Study of an Elevation, in Indian Ink
This ditty is a string of lies.But—how the deuce did Gubbins rise?
POTIPHAR GUBBINS, C. E.,Stands at the top of the tree;And I muse in my bed on the reasons that ledTo the hoisting of Potiphar G.
Potiphar Gubbins, C. E.,Is seven years junior to Me;Each bridge that he makes he either buckles or breaks,And his work is as rough as he.
Potiphar Gubbins, C. E.,Is coarse as a chimpanzee;And I can't understand why you gave him your hand,Lovely Mehitabel Lee.
Potiphar Gubbins, C. E.,Is dear to the Powers that Be;For They bow and They smile in an affable styleWhich is seldom accorded to Me.
Potiphar Gubbins, C. E.,Is certain as certain can beOf a highly-paid post which is claimed by a hostOf seniors—including Me.
Careless and lazy is he,Greatly inferior to Me.
What is the spell that you manage so well,Commonplace Potiphar G.?
Lovely Mehitabel Lee,Let me inquire of thee,Should I have riz to what Potiphar is,Hadst thou been mated to me?
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