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crime:— I’ve tried my best, and for that name
I can’t find any rhyme! Yet spare me from remarks injurious: I will not leave you foiled and furious. If something must proclaim the answer, And I cannot, the title can, sir!
[52]The Moral is: All said and done, There’s nothing new beneath the sun, And many times before, a title Was incapacity’s requital! [53]How Jack Made the Giants
Uncommonly Sore
Of all the ill-fated Boys ever created
Young Jack was the wretchedest lad: An emphatic, erratic, Dogmatic fanatic
Was foisted upon him as dad! From the time he could walk, And before he could talk,
His wearisome training began, On a highly barbarian, Disciplinarian, Nearly Tartarean
Plan!
[54]He taught him some Raleigh, And some of Macaulay,
Till all of “Horatius” he knew, And the drastic, sarcastic, Fantastic, scholastic
Philippics of “Junius,” too. He made him learn lots Of the poems of Watts,
And frequently said he ignored, On principle, any son’s Title to benisons Till he’d learned Tennyson’s
“Maud.”
“For these are the giants Of thought and of science,”
He said in his positive way:
“So weigh them, obey them, Display them, and lay them
To heart in your infancy’s day!” Jack made no reply, But he said on the sly
An eloquent word, that had come From a quite indefensible, Most reprehensible, But indispensable
Chum.
[55] By the time he was twenty Jack had such a plenty
Of books and paternal advice, Though seedy and needy, Indeed he was greedy
For vengeance, whatever the price! In the editor’s seat Of a critical sheet
He found the revenge that he sought; And, with sterling appliance of Mind, wrote defiance of All of the giants of
Thought.
He’d thunder and grumble At high and at humble
Until he became, in a while, Mordacious, pugnacious, Rapacious. Good gracious!
They called him the Yankee Carlyle! But he never took rest On his quarrelsome quest
Of the giants, both mighty and small. He slated, distorted them, Hanged them and quartered them, Till he had slaughtered them
All.
[56]And this is The Moral that lies in the verse: If you have a go farther, you’re apt to fare worse. (When you turn it around it is different rather:— You’re not apt to go worse if you have a fair father!)
[57]How Rudeness and Kindness
Were Justly Rewarded
Once on a time, long years ago
(Just when I quite forget), Two maidens lived beside the Po,
One blonde and one brunette. The blonde one’s character was mild, From morning until night she smiled, Whereas the one whose hair was brown Did little else than pine and frown.
(I think one ought to draw the line
At girls who always frown and pine!)
The blonde one learned to play the harp,
Like all accomplished dames, And trained her voice to take C sharp
As well as Emma Eames; Made baskets out of scented grass, And paper-weights of hammered brass, And lots of other odds and ends For gentleman and lady friends.
(I think it takes a deal of sense
To manufacture gifts for gents!)
[58] The dark one wore an air of gloom,
Proclaimed the world a bore, And took her breakfast in her room
Three mornings out of four. With crankiness she seemed imbued, And everything she said was rude: She sniffed, and sneered, and, what is more, When very much provoked, she swore!
(I think that I could never care
For any girl who’d learned to swear!)
One day the blonde was striding past
A forest, all alone, When all at once her eyes she cast
Upon a wrinkled crone, Who tottered near with shaking knees, And said: “A penny, if you please!” And you will learn with some surprise This was a fairy in disguise!
(I think it must be hard to know
A fairy who’s incognito!)
[59] The maiden filled her trembling palms
With coinage of the realm. The fairy said: “Take back your alms!
My heart they overwhelm. Henceforth at every word shall slip A pearl or ruby from your lip!” And, when the girl got home that night,— [60] She found the fairy’s words were right!
(I think there are not many girls
Whose words are worth their weight in pearls!)
[61] It happened that the cross brunette,
Ten minutes later, came Along the self-same road, and met
That bent and wrinkled dame, Who asked her humbly for a sou. The girl replied: “Get out with you!” The fairy cried: “Each word you drop, A toad from out your mouth shall hop!”
(I think that nothing incommodes
One’s speech like uninvited toads!)
And so it was, the cheerful blonde
Lived on in joy and bliss, And grew pecunious, beyond
The dreams of avarice! And to a nice young man was wed, And I have often heard it said No other man who ever walked Most loved his wife when most she talked!
(I think this very fact, forsooth,
Goes far to prove I tell the truth!)
[62] The cross brunette the fairy’s joke
By hook or crook survived, But still at every word she spoke
An ugly toad arrived, Until at last she had to come To feigning she was wholly dumb, Whereat the suitors swarmed around, And soon a wealthy mate she found.
(I think nobody ever knew
The happier husband of the two!)
The Moral of the tale is: Bah! Nous avons changé tout celà. No clear idea I hope to strike Of what your nicest girl is like, But she whose best young man I am Is not an oyster, nor a clam![63]
This shows why each suitor, who rode up to spark, Would mark the toad maybe, but ne’er toed the mark.[64] [65]How Beauty Contrived to Get
Square with the Beast
Miss Guinevere Platt Was so beautiful that
She couldn’t remember the day When one of her swains Hadn’t taken the pains
To send her a mammoth bouquet. And the postman had found, On the whole of his round,
That no one received such a lot Of bulky epistles As, waiting his whistles,
The beautiful Guinevere got!
[66]
A significant sign That her charm was divine
Was seen in society, when The chaperons sniffed With their eyebrows alift:
“Whatever’s got into the men?” There was always a man Who was holding her fan,
And twenty that danced in details, And a couple of mourners, Who brooded in corners,
And gnawed their mustaches and nails.
[67]John Jeremy Platt Wouldn’t stay in the flat,
For his beautiful daughter he missed: When he’d taken his tub, He would hie to his club,
And dally with poker or whist. At the end of a year It was perfectly clear
That he’d never computed the cost, For he hadn’t a penny To settle the many
Ten thousands of dollars he’d lost!
F. Ferdinand Fife Was a student of life:
He was coarse, and excessively fat, With a beard like a goat’s, But he held all the notes
Of ruined John Jeremy Platt! With an adamant smile That was brimming with guile,
He said: “I am took with the face Of your beautiful daughter, And wed me she ought ter,
To save you from utter disgrace!”
[68]Miss Guinevere Platt Didn’t hesitate at
Her duty’s imperative call. When they looked at the bride All the chaperons cried:
“She isn’t so bad, after all!” Of the desolate men There were something like ten
Who took up political lives, And the flower of the flock Went and fell off a dock,
And the rest married hideous wives!
[69]But the beautiful wife Of F. Ferdinand Fife
Was the wildest that ever was known: She’d grumble and glare, Till the man didn’t dare
To say that his soul was his own. She sneered at his ills, And quadrupled his bills,
And spent nearly twice what he earned; Her husband deserted, And frivoled, and flirted,
Till Ferdinand’s reason was turned.
[70]He repented too late, And his terrible fate
Upon him so heavily sat, That he swore at the day When he sat down to play
At cards with John Jeremy Platt. He was dead in a year, And the fair Guinevere
In society sparkled again, While the chaperons fluttered Their fans, as they muttered:
“She’s getting exceedingly plain!”
The Moral: Predicaments often are found That beautiful duty is apt to get round: But greedy extortioners better beware For dutiful beauty is apt to get square!
[71]
This shows how at poker one loses his pelf When the other’s a joker and knave in himself.[72] [73]How a Fair One no Hope to
His Highness Accorded
She has slid down the channels Of history’s annals
Disguised as the child of a king, But that is a glib And iniquitous fib,
For she never was any such thing: They called her the Fair One with Golden Locks, And it’s true she had lovers who swarmed in flocks, But the rest is ironic; Her business chronic Was selling hair-tonic
By bottle and box!
From the dawn till the gloaming She used to sit combing
Her hair in a languorous way. And her suitors would stop To look into the shop,
And stand there the rest of the day. She filled them with mute, but with deep despair, For she never glanced up, with a smile, to where They stood about, crushing Each other, and blushing: She simply kept brushing
Her beautiful hair.
[74] But a prince who was passing, Engaged in amassing
Some facts on American life, Was suddenly struck By the fact that his luck
Might give him that girl for a wife! His rashness he didn’t attempt to excuse, He entered the shop and he stated his views. Remarking,
“My jewel, I’m confident you will Not wish to be cruel
Enough to refuse.
[75] “Most winsome of creatures,” He told her, “your features
Have led me to candidly say That no other beside Would I have for a bride:
We’ll be married a week from to-day! I belong to a long and a titled line, And the least of your wishes I won’t decline; Next month I will usher My wife into Russia:— Sweet comber and brusher,
Consider you’re mine!”
She looked at him squarely, Considered him fairly,
Her glance was as keen as a knife, Then she turned up her nose, And, with icy repose,
She answered: “Well, not on your life! You’re not on the paper the only blot! Do you think I come twelve in a parcel—what? Me pose as your dearie? Oh, go and chase Peary! You’re making me weary.
Now git!”
[76](He got!)
[77]
This shows how, with never a shadow of doubt, When you go in for love you are apt to come out.[78]
[79] The crowd that had waited Outside was elated
So much by the prince’s mischance, That they greeted with jeers And ironical cheers,
The end of his little romance. They said: “Did it hurt when the ground you hit?” They searched for some mark where the prince had lit, And as he looked colder, They only grew bolder, And tapped on his shoulder
With: “Tag! You’re It!”
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