There is a fine stuffed chavender A chavender, or chub That decks the rural pavender, The pavender, or pub, Wherein I eat my gravender, My gravender, or grub. How good the honest gravender! How snug the rustic pavender! From sheets as sweet as lavender, As lavender, or lub, I jump into my tavender, My tavender, or tub. Alas! for town and clavender, For business and for club! They call me from my pavender Tonight; ay, there's the ravender, Ay, there comes in the rub! To leave each blooming shravender, Each spring-bedizened shrub, And meet the horsy savender, The very forward sub, At dinner at the clavender, And then at billiards dravender, At billiards soundly drub The self-sufficient cavender, The not ill-meaning cub, Who me a bear will davender, A bear unduly dub, Because I sometimes snavender, Not too severely snub His setting right the clavender, His teaching all the club! Farewell to peaceful pavender, My river-dreaming pub, To sheets as sweet as lavender, To homely, wholesome gravender, And you, inspiring chavender, Stuff'd chavender, or chub. |