Five Hundred Eyes

The Rime of the Ancient Conventioneer


It is the convention nutter
And he stoppeth one of three
"By thy blue-striped shirt and glittering eye,
Now wherefore stopp'st thou me?

The main hall doors are opened wide
I can see the fans within;
The guests are met, the panel set:
May'st hear the merry din."

He holds him with his skinny hand,
"There was a script," quoth he.
"Hold off! unhand me, blue-striped loon!"
Eftsoons his hand dropt he.

He holds him with his glittering eye -
The conventioneer stood still
And listens like a three years' child:
The nutter has his will.

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