Moko, the Educated Ape is here,

The pet of vaudeville, so the posters say,

And every night the gaping people pay

To see him in his panoply appear;

To see him pad his paunch with dainty cheer,

Puff his perfecto, swill champagne, and sway

Just like a gentleman, yet all in play,

Then bow himself off stage with brutish leer.

And as to-night, with noble knowledge crammed,

I ’mid this human compost take my place,

I, once a poet, now so dead and damned,

The woeful tears half freezing on my face:

“O God!” I cry, “let me but take his shape,

Moko’s, the Blest, the Educated Ape.”