With a Jewishy sign, аnd genteel approach
The salesman-mulatto jumps into coach.
He opens a box and a magical sight
Of gay sparkling stocks pours all over with light.
The yellow edged sign ‘s illuminated by beam;
Like a sun-rising shine his hair turns to gleam:
A little lame kid blowing in merry cells,
But the sound that they bring is like tolling of bells.
The whetstone is broken, refuses to whet –
The records and gramophone newly-weds bringing back.
And woeful he comes with the box, with his cares
By the autumny shrubs dazzling just like his hairs.
He’s the one by the canon of the century branded
As a plutocrat, mason – as a cousin of Rothshield.