Scanning a technic magazine.

I love to learn of any wheeze
Wherewith to win by quick degrees
A rich sufficiency of ease.

And so it thrilled me to the core
To read the phrase, "Electric bore,"
And think of happy days in store.

In former times I'd often start
Abroad with eagerness of heart
To patronise dramatic art;

Only at curtain's fall to come
Homeward again, dejected, glum,
And overwhelmed by tedium.

With _ennui_ verging on distress
I'd witnessed from the circle (dress)
Some transatlantic HUGE SUCCESS;

Or else some play of Irish life,
Ending with father, son and wife
Impaled upon a single knife;

Or haply I had chanced to choose
Some even surer source of blues,
One of the things they call revues.