The Book of Humorous Verse Part 11

I shipped aboard the _Lizzie_--or she might ha' bin the _Jane;_ Them wimmin names are mixey, so I don't remember plain; But anyhow, she were a craft that carried schooner rig, (Although Sam Swab, the bo'sun, allus swore she were a brig); We sailed away from Salem Town,--no, lemme think;--'t were _Lynn_,-- An' steered a course for Africa (or Greece, it might ha' bin); But anyway, we tacked an' backed an' weathered many a storm-- Oh, no,--as I recall it now, that week was fine an' warm!

Who did I say the cap'n was? I _didn't_ say at all?

Wa-a-ll now, his name were 'Lijah Bell--or was it Eli Ball?

I kinder guess 't were Eli. He'd a big, red, bushy beard-- No-o-o, come to think, he allus kept _his_ whiskers nicely sheared.

But anyhow, that voyage was the first I'd ever took, An' all I had to do was cut up cabbage for the cook; But come to talk o' cabbage just reminds me,--that there trip Would prob'ly be my _third_ one, on a Hong Kong clipper-ship.

The crew they were a jolly lot, an' used to sing '_Avast_,'

I think it were, or else '_Ahoy_,' while bailing out the mast.

And as I recollect it now,--"

But here I cut him short, And said: "It's time to tack again, and bring your wits to port; I came to get a story both adventurous and _true_, And here is how I started out to write the interview: 'I saw a _certain_ sailorman,' but you turn out to be The most _un_-certain sailorman that ever sailed the sea!"

He puffed his pipe, and answered, "Wa-a-ll, I _thought_ 'twere mine, but still, _I must ha' told the one belongs to my twin brother Bill_!"

_Frederick Moxon._

BALLAD OF THE PRIMITIVE JEST

I am an ancient Jest!

Paleolithic man In his arboreal nest The sparks of fun would fan; My outline did he plan, And laughed like one possessed, 'Twas thus my course began, I am a Merry Jest.

I am an early Jest!

Man delved and built and span; Then wandered South and West The peoples Aryan, _I_ journeyed in their van; The Semites, too, confessed,-- From Beersheba to Dan,-- I am a Merry Jest.

I am an ancient Jest, Through all the human clan, Red, black, white, free, oppressed, Hilarious I ran!

I'm found in Lucian, In Poggio, and the rest, I'm dear to Moll and Nan!

I am a Merry Jest!

|envoy|:

Prince, you may storm and ban-- Joe Millers _are_ a pest, Suppress me if you can!

I am a Merry Jest!

_Andrew Lang._

VILLANELLE OF THINGS AMUSING

These are the things that make me laugh-- Life's a preposterous farce, say I!

And I've missed of too many jokes by half.

The high-heeled antics of colt and calf, The men who think they can act, and try-- These are the things that make me laugh.

The hard-boiled poses in photograph, The groom still wearing his wedding tie-- And I've missed of too many jokes by half!

These are the bubbles I gayly quaff With the rank conceit of the new-born fly-- These are the things that make me laugh!

For, Heaven help me! I needs must chaff, And people will tickle me till I die-- And I've missed of too many jokes by half!

So write me down in my epitaph As one too fond of his health to cry-- These are the things that make me laugh, And I've missed of too many jokes by half!

_Gelett Burgess._

HOW TO EAT WATERMELONS

When you slice a Georgy melon you mus' know what you is at An' look out how de knife is gwine in.

Put one-half on dis side er you--de yuther half on dat, En' den you gits betwixt 'em, en begin!

Oh, melons!

Honey good ter see; But we'en it comes ter sweetness, De melon make fer me!

En den you puts yo' knife up, en you sorter licks de blade, En never stop fer sayin' any grace; But eat ontell you satisfy--roll over in de shade, En sleep ontell de sun shine in yo' face!

Oh, melons!

Honey good ter see; But we'en it comes ter sweetness, De melon make fer me!

_Frank Libby Stanton._

A VAGUE STORY

Perchance it was her eyes of blue, Her cheeks that might the rose have shamed, Her figure in proportion true To all the rules by artists framed; Perhaps it was her mental worth That made her lover love her so, Perhaps her name, or wealth, or birth-- I cannot tell--I do not know.

He may have had a rival, who Did fiercely gage him to a duel, And, being luckier of the two, Defeated him with triumph cruel; Then _she_ may have proved false, and turned To welcome to her arms his foe, Left _him_ despairing, conquered, spurned-- I cannot tell--I do not know.

So oft such woes will counteract The thousand ecstacies of love, That you may fix on base of fact The story hinted at above; But all on earth so doubtful is, Man _knows_ so little here below, That, if you ask for proof of this, I cannot tell--I do not know.

_Walter Parke._

HIS MOTHER-IN-LAW

He stood on his head by the wild seash.o.r.e, And danced on his hands a jig; In all his emotions, as never before, A wildly hilarious grig.

And why? In that ship just crossing the bay His mother-in-law had sailed For a tropical country far away, Where tigers and fever prevailed.