If of it we only could swallow enough,
How healthy, how happy were we!
Condensed form of oxygen, essence of air
That's fresh, or electricitee,
Ozone is the stuff shaken health to repair.
'Tis for it we all fly to the sea!
Solidified Ozone they talk about now,
To be bought in small bricks like pressed tea.
The air that is cheering when breathed on one's brow
In cubic foot-blocks would bring glee.
How pleasant to buy one's Ozone, like one's coal,
And store it up an-nu-al-lee!
And not fly for it to some dull cockney hol
Just because it is dug by the Sea!
Ah yes, let us have it, this needful Ozone,
In portable parcels! Ah me!
No longer need Paterfamilias groan
At the cost of that month by the Sea!
* * * * *
SHAKSPEARIAN MOTTO FOR THE NEW UNIONISM.--(_Dedicated to the
Artisan left out in the cold_.)--"In the ambush of my name, strike
home!"--_Measure for Measure_.
* * * * *
TO MY UMBRELLA.
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