Warren Hastings
 'The lady secretary explains to a caller, why her boss
is not available.'

Mister Montague cannot see you, sir, today. I'm sure it's not the slightest use your waiting. He's just been laid to rest With a lily on his chest. The whole affair is most exasperating. I acted as his private secretary. A quite platonic friendship had ensued. We dined, of course, and wined In a manner most refined, Tho' Mr. Montague got, sometimes, slightly stewed. My boy friend, silly dear, grew strangely jealous, And bumped off Mister Montague, they say. Now he languishes in jail, And they won't allow him bail. Mister Montague cannot see you, sir, to-day. My boy friend is, by nature, most suspicious. He crept up with a pistol in his hand. Poor Mister Montague Was riddled thro' and thro'. A process which was more than he could stand. With a melancholy smile upon his phizog, There, like a human colander, lay he. To say the very least, He was frightfully deceased. On this the Coroner's Jury all agree. His final destination is uncertain, But let us hope he's on the Milky Way. Appointments are deferred Till the long last trump is heard. Mister Montague cannot see you, sir, to-day. Arising from this tiresome dissolution, Various reflections come to light. No more the soup will splash From that walrus-like moustache Upon that shirt-clad bosom, snowy-white. No diamond ring upon that fleshy finger Will scintillate in ostentatious pride. Our eyes will search in vain For that massive golden chain. These facts, tho' painful, cannot be denied. If in your mind the smallest doubt should linger Pray step inside his office, sir... This way! But all you'll find in there Is an awfully empty chair. 'Mister Montague cannot see you, sir, to-day.
The end