O climbing up Pasnassus's side
   Was a gay old game in the olden time;
The road was rough, but the road was wide,
   And every man was free to climb.

Racing up Parnassus bless'd,
  Was an amateur game in the olden days;
And the prise for him who reached the crest
   Was the longed for wreath of brilliant bays.

O toiling up Parnassus's slope
   Was a game for sports in days gone by;
For they raced for love alone -- and hope,
   And evry man was bound to try.

But racing up Parnassus now
   Is for "side-wagers" and "the gate."
A "booky" gay stands near the brow,
   And "stiffens" men to come in late.

Yea, climbing up Parnassus now
   Is a low-down of £ s. d.;
They scheme and squabble, cheat and row.
   It's not the game it used to be.

I haven't tried Parnassus yet;
   I'm waiting at the bottom still,
Till, tiring of this fuss and fret,
   The good gods find another hill.

"Den"
The Gadfly, 14 November 1906, p777