A builder of follys set out to astound
With a network of tunnels and rooms underground,
He ha dthe carpets rolled up and the floorboards away,
And his workmen were digging by night and by day.
Rubble and topsoil they piled in the hall,
The servants knoew not what to make of it all,
Molehills of dark earth appeared on the lawn,
With an interminable racket from midnight 'til dawn.
He descended by lift at the foot of the stair,
Conveyed thence by rail in a converted bath chair,
To a hallway which stretched two thirds of a mile
And a dozen fine bedrooms in the Italian style.
He had a Regency ballroom to tempt the smart set,
Bathed in the blue of one hundred gas jets,
He invited all those he considered his friends
To a grand opening ball but no one would attend.