[One Virgile Marry, of Paris, attacked a stranger with a knife because he considered it “an unfriendly act for a man with such a face to go about the streets.”]

I am not one whose form and face
Are miracles of manly grace:
A Ouida guardsman, I admit,
Does not resemble me a bit.
But when through London’s streets I go,
Do passers-by attack me? No.

Pedestrians meet me in the Strand,
Yet every one withholds his hand.
However much my face offends,
They murmur softly to their friends
“ ’Twere better to eschew assault:
It may not be the fellow’s fault.”

But mark the stern Parisian:
He acts upon a different plan.
Should he, when on the boulevard, spy
An unattractive passer-by,
He hastens to attempt his life
By driving at him with a knife.

This summer I had meant to go
To Paris for a week or so.
I rather think I’d better tarry
Till death removes fastidious Marry.
 * * * * 
At Herne, its fascinating bay,
I’ll spend my annual holiday.

P. G. W.