PARODIES. 



THE LOST TROUT. 



[WITH APOLOGIES TO A. A. PROCTER.] 



Standing one day in the river, 



I was casting my line and flees, 

 When I rose a trout gigantic, 



That broke me with desp'rate ease. 

 I knew not what I was saying, 



Or what you will think of me, 

 But I said one word in anger 



Like the sound of a big, Big D. 



It rose o'er the noisy river 



Like the bang of a showman's drum, 

 For my cast of flies had vanished, 



And my hands were cold and numb ; 

 For that brute of a trout levanted 



Like a runaway knock at the door, 

 And I knew we had parted for ever, 



To meet in this world no more. 



It went with four lovely killers, 



Four at tuppence apiece, 

 And bolted away into distance 



As if it would never cease. 



