“Oh wilt thou go a-motoring?” said a
gallant swain one day.
“I've packed our grub and bathing-togs
and bought a Ford coupé.”
I asked him rather faintly was he competent to steer;
He said he'd studied pamphlets on the
mysteries of gear.
They used to mount a dashing steed in
good King Arthur's day.
But now we speed by town and mead
in a really nice coupé.
“Oh wilt thou come a-dancing?” said a
gallant swain to me.
“I've found a really topping place—
tickets two and three.”
I asked him who had tied his tie and
where he'd bought his sox.
He said my lips were rather red but
matched his dashing clocks.
They used to sweep the ball-rooms in
graceful minuets;
But now we swerve in dizzy curve to
the tune of “Happy Days.”
“Oh wilt thou come a-‘Talkying’?” said
a gallant swain to me.
“I've booked our seats for Saturday—to
a ‘thing’ with Lila Lee.”
They say the songs are really good—
the story doesn't matter.
I told him I agreed with him and hoped
he wouldn't chatter.
They used to take a theatre-box and rave
about the Drama,
But now we gaze in breathless daze at
tinted talking charmer.

At Wingatui Station, Otago.

And now we're simply waiting, oh, that
gallant swain and me,
To buy a “Baby” aeroplane and sail
across the sea.