Not those, along the route prescribed

To see them in a hurry,

Church, palace, gallery, described

By worthy Mr. Murray.

Nor those detailed as well by whom

But Baedeker, the German;

The choir, the nave, the font, the tomb,

The pulpit for the sermon.

No tourist traps which tire you out,

A never-ending worry;

Most interesting things, no doubt,

Described by Mr. Murray.

Nor yet, O gastronomic mind—

In cookery a boss, sage

In recipes—you will not find,

I mean Bologna sausage.

Not beauties, which, perhaps, you class

With your own special curry;

Not beauties, which we must not pass

If led by Mr. Murray.

I sing—alas, how very ill!—

Those beauties of the city,

The praise of whose dark eyes might fill

A much more worthy ditty.

O, Ladies of Bologna, who

The coldest heart might flurry,

I much prefer to study you

Than Baedeker or Murray.

Those guide-book sights no longer please;

Three hours still, tre ore,

I have to lounge and look at these

Bellissime signore.

Then slow express—South Western goes

Much faster into Surrey—

Will take me off to other shows

Described by Mr. Murray.

But still, Signore, there will be,

By your sweet faces smitten,

One Englishman who came to see

What Baedeker has written.

Let Baedeker then see the lot

In frantic hurry-scurry.

I've found some beauties which are not

Described by Mr. Murray.