The Book of Humorous Verse Part 149

Gadsbud! my buzzing friend, thou art not dead; The Fates, so kind, have not yet snapped thy thread; By heavens, thou mov'st a leg, and now its brother.

And kicking, lo, again, thou mov'st another!

And now thy little drunken eyes unclose, And now thou feelest for thy little nose, And, finding it, thou rubbest thy two hands Much as to say, "I'm glad I'm here again."

And well mayest thou rejoice--'tis very plain, That near wert thou to Death's unsocial lands.

And now thou rollest on thy back about, Happy to find thyself alive, no doubt-- Now turnest--on the table making rings, Now crawling, forming a wet track, Now shaking the rich liquor from thy back, Now fluttering nectar from thy silken wings.

Now standing on thy head, thy strength to find, And poking out thy small, long legs behind; And now thy pinions dost thou briskly ply; Preparing now to leave me--farewell, fly!

Go, join thy brothers on yon sunny board, And rapture to thy family afford-- There wilt thou meet a mistress, or a wife, That saw thee drunk, drop senseless in the stream.

Who gave, perhaps, the wide-resounding scream, And now sits groaning for thy precious life.

Yes, go and carry comfort to thy friends, And wisely tell them thy imprudence ends.

Let buns and sugar for the future charm; These will delight, and feed, and work no harm While Punch, the grinning, merry imp of sin, Invites th' unwary wanderer to a kiss, Smiles in his face, as though he meant him bliss, Then, like an alligator, drags him in.

_John Wolcot._

ODE TO A BOBTAILED CAT

Felis Infelix! Cat unfortunate, With nary narrative!

Canst thou no tail relate Of how (Miaow!) Thy tail end came to terminate so bluntly Didst wear it off by Sedentary habits As do the rabbits?

Didst go a Fishing with it, Wishing with it To "bob" for catfish, And get bobbed thyself?

Curses on that fish!

Didst lose it in kittenhood, Hungrily chawing it?

Or, gaily pursuing it, Did it make tangent From thy swift circuit?

Did some brother Greyback-- Yowling And howling In nocturnal strife, Spitting and staring Cursing and swearing, Ripping and tearing, Calling thee "Sausagetail,"

Abbreviate thy suffix?

Or did thy jealous wife Detect yer In some sly flirtation, And, after caudal lecture, Bite off thy termination?

And sarve yer right!

Did some mischievous boy, Some barbarous boy, Eliminate thy finis?

(Probably!) The wretch!

The villain!

Cruelly spillin'

Thy innocent blood!

Furiously scratch him Where'er yer may catch him!

Well, Bob, this course now is left, Since thus of your tail you're bereft: Tell your friend that by letter From Paris You have learned the style there is To wear the tail short, And the briefer the better; Such is the pa.s.sion, That every Grimalkin will Follow your fashion.

_Unknown._

A DIRGE

CONCERNING THE LATE LAMENTED KING OF THE CANNIBAL ISLANDS

And so our royal relative is dead!

And so he rests from gustatory labors!

The white man was his choice, but when he fed He'd sometimes entertain his tawny neighbors.

He worshipped, as he said, his "Fe-fo-fum,"

The G.o.ddess of the epigastrium.

And missionaries graced his festive board, Solemn and succulent, in twos and dozens, And smoked before their hospitable lord, Welcome as if they'd been his second cousins.

When cold, he warmed them as he would his kin-- They came as strangers, and he took them in.

And generous!--oh, wasn't he? I have known him Exhibit a celestial amiability:-- He'd eat an enemy, and then would own him Of flavor excellent, despite hostility.

The crudest captain of the Turkish navy He buried in an honorable grave--y.

He had a hundred wives. To make things pleasant They found it quite judicious to adore him;-- And when he dined, the nymphs were always present-- Sometimes beside him and sometimes--before him.

When he was tired of one, he called her "sweet,"

And told her she was "good enough to eat."

He was a man of taste--and justice, too; He opened his mouth for e'en the humblest sinner, And three weeks stall-fed an emaciate Jew Before they brought him to the royal dinner.

With preacher-men he shared his board and wallet And let them nightly occupy his palate!

We grow like what we eat. Bad food depresses; Good food exalts us like an inspiration, And missionary on the _menu_ blesses And elevates the Feejee population.

A people who for years, saints, bairns, and women ate Must soon their vilest qualities eliminate.

But the deceased could never hold a candle To those prim, pale-faced people of propriety Who gloat o'er gossip and get fat on scandal-- The cannibals of civilized society; They drink the blood of brothers with their rations, And crunch the bones of living reputations.

They kill the soul; he only claimed the dwelling.

They take the sharpened scalpel of surmises And cleave the sinews when the heart is swelling, And slaughter Fame and Honor for their prizes.

They make the spirit in the body quiver; They quench the Light! He only took the--Liver!

I've known some hardened customers, I wot, A few tough fellows--pagans beyond question-- I wish had got into his dinner-pot; Although I'm certain they'd defy digestion, And break his jaw, and ruin his esophagus, Were he the chief of beings anthropophagous!

How fond he was of children! To his breast The tenderest nurslings gained a free admission.

Rank he despised, nor, if they came well dressed, Cared if they were plebeian or patrician.

Shade of Leigh Hunt! Oh, guide this laggard pen To write of one who loved his fellow men!

_William Augustus Croffut._