The poem
Moko, the Educated Ape is here, The pet of vaudeville, so the posters say, And every night the gaping people pay To see him in his panoply appear; To see him pad his paunch with dainty cheer, Puff his perfecto, swill champagne, and sway Just like a gentleman, yet all in play, Then bow himself off stage with brutish leer.
And as to-night, with noble knowledge crammed, I 'mid this human compost take my place, I, once a poet, now so dead and damned, The woeful tears half freezing on my face: "O God!" I cry, "let me but take his shape, Moko's, the Blest, the Educated Ape."