An interesting alien, he charmed our hours of ease,

Being either Blue Hungarian or Purple Viennese,

And he cut a gorgeous figure in his blue (or purple) suit

As he coaxed enticing noises from (I think it was) the flute.

If his name upon the programme ever chanced to be defined,

It was Otto Heinrich Ollendorf, or something of the kind,

But his casual conversation served surprisingly to show

That the accent of Vienna much resembled that of Bow.

When the rumour ran that battle was a-going to begin,

He was heard to say his country would inevitably win

(Had it chanced that in my presence such an insult had been said,

As he wasn't able-bodied, I'd have punched the beggar's head).

He declined in public favour; it was rumoured he was sent

To keep watch upon our doings as he puffed his instrument,

And we said, "Eject this alien, let him soothe the savage breast

In a beer-house at Vienna or a band at Budapest."

But the way was not so lengthy to his own, his native land;

And where British flautists whistle in a wholly British band

He performs as well as ever, and confesses to the town

(With no fear of unemployment) that his proper name is Brown.