The Lyons Cubs

I said to George, my eldest son,
'Now that your college days are done,
'And high opinions you have won
'For wisdom and discretion,
'The time has come, as I suspect,
'When you should ponder and reflect
'Upon your future, and select
'A calling or profession.'
He answered brightly, 'Righto, pater!
'I'd like to be a British waiter!'

'Come, George,' I said, 'don't be absurd!
'I asked what calling you preferred.
'The Bar (although, I've always heard,
'The work is something frightful),
'The Church, the Services, the Bench,
'Diplomacy--nay, do not blench,
'You know how good you are at French--
'Is each of them delightful;
'I'll come for your decision later.'
Said George, 'I wish to be a waiter!

'Yes, at some cafe let me wait;
'For though I stroked my College eight,
'The year they won the Ladies' Plate,
'How mean a triumph that is,
'Compared with his who daily bears
'Whole stacks of Ladies' Plates downstairs,
'Or "bumps" the backs of diners' chairs,
'At Evans's or Gatti's!
'A "first" in "Greats" I deem no greater
'Than every exploit of the waiter.

'When single-handed he controls
'Some half-a-dozen finger-bowls,
'Than any Fellow of All Souls
'More talent he evinces,
'And shows why those who feel the charm
'Of balancing without alarm
'Six soup-plates upon either arm,
'At Kettner's, Scott's, or Prince's,
'To Judge's wig or Bishop's gaiter
'Prefer the napkin of the waiter!'