Suppose it were Friday xc: Now let us praise inequality

   Someone's begun
   the day better,
   it often seems.

  What could be less fastidious
  than opulence so giddious,
  as Rolls are Roycing boldly off the     truck;
  and if one thought, insidious,
  our rhyme would climb more hideous,
  It's premature to cluck.

I don't know about you, but the insanity defense of the limerick has stood one in great stead, from time to time, to immunise jest. That shield is like Rolls' splendid wingèd ornament, the Spirit of Ecstasy. It wears the kiss of frolic. Yes?

               It's just possibly conceivable,
               the gods designed retrievable,
               our fret,
               of comfort unbelievable
               in view of how receivable's
               the debt.

  Enough, then, with nos-     trums on the consola-       tions of luxury, one way     or the other. There will     always be a merrier con-     veyance. For them, the       gods have given us the       Insouciant Amphibian,       
  Tadpole to the gentry,
  high compression             element'ry
  in his limbs;
  a busy Port of Entry,
  evident'ry of his whims.

  We think awf'lly well of     Toady, 
  and we love his bonhommie,   but one can't be just a     roadie 
  of commodious esprit.


  
   That said, it's not un-
   worth mulling upon, I
   grant you. The problem,
   if we must have one, is 
   that inequality is enor-
   mously too interchange-
   able to be dislodged 
   overnight.

Kenneth Grahame
The Wind in the Willows
op. cit.