Verse and Worse Part 4

_MORAL_

Be kind to ev'ry bull you meet, Remember how the creature feels; Don't wink at ladies in the street; And don't make speeches after meals; And lastly, I need not explain, If you're a horse, don't go to Spain.

XVII

SWITZERLAND

This atmosphere is pure ozone!

To climb the hills you promptly start; Unless you happen to be p.r.o.ne To palpitations of the heart; In which case swarming up the Alps Brings on a bad attack of palps.

The nicest method is to stay Quite comfortably down below, And, from the steps of your chalet, Watch other people upwards go.

Then you can buy an alpenstock, And scratch your name upon a rock.

_MORAL_

Don't do fatiguing things which you Can pay another man to do.

Let friends a.s.sume (they may be wrong), That you each year ascend Mong Blong.

Some things you can _pretend_ you've done, And climbing up the Alps is one.

XVIII

TURKEY

The Sultan of the Purple East Is quite a cynic, in his way, And really doesn't mind the least His nickname of 'Abdul the ----' (Nay!

I might perhaps come in for blame If I divulged this monarch's name.)

The Turk is such a kindly man, But his ideas of sport are crude; He to the poor Armenian Is not intentionally rude, But still it is his heartless habit To treat him as _we_ treat the rabbit.

If he wants bracing up a bit, His pleasing little custom is To take a hatchet and commit A series of atrocities.

I should not fancy, after dark, To meet him, say, in Regent's Park.

A deeply married man is he, 'Early and often' is his rule; He practises polygamy Directly after leaving school, And so arranges that his wives Live happy but secluded lives.

If they attend a public place, They have to do so in disguise, And so conceal one-half their face That nothing but a pair of eyes Suggests the hidden charm that lurks Beneath the veils of lady Turks.

Then too in Turkey all the men Smoke water-pipes and cross their legs; They watch their harem as a hen That guards her first attempt at eggs.

(If you don't know what harems are, Just run and ask your dear papa.)

_MORAL_

Wives of great men oft remind us We should make our wives sublime, But the years advancing find us Vainly working over-time.

We could minimise our work By the methods of the Turk.

XIX

DREAMLAND

Here you will see strange happenings With absolutely placid eyes; If all your uncles sprouted wings You would not feel the least surprise; The oddest things that you can do Don't seem a bit absurd to you.

You go (in Dreamland) to a ball, And suddenly are shocked to find That you have nothing on at all,-- But somehow no one seems to mind; And, naturally, _you_ don't care, If they can bear what you can bare!

Then, in a moment, you're pursued By engines on a railway track!

Your legs are tied, your feet are glued, The train comes snorting down your back!

One last attempt at flight you make And so (in bed) perspiring wake.

You feel so free from weight of cares That, if the staircase you should climb, You gaily mount, not single stairs, But whole battalions at a time; (My metaphor is mixed, may be, I quote from Shakespeare, as you see).

If you should eat too much, you pay (In dreams) the penalty for this; A nightmare carries you away And drops you down a precipice!

Down! down! until, with sudden smack, You strike the mattress with your back.

_MORAL_

At meals decline to be a beast; 'Too much is better than a feast.'

XX

STAGELAND

The customs of this land have all Been published in a bulky tome.

The author is a man they call Jer_ome_ K. J_er_ome _K_. Jer_ome_.

So, lest on his preserves I poach, This subject I refuse to broach.

_MORAL_

The moral here is plain to see.

If true the hackneyed witticism Which stamps Originality As 'undetected plagiarism,'

What a vocation I have miss'd As undetected plagiarist!

XXI

LOVERLAND

This is the land where minor bards And other lunatics repair, To live in houses made of cards, Or build their castles in the air; To feed on hope, and idly dream That things are really what they seem.

The natives are a motley lot, Of ev'ry age and creed and race, But each inhabitant has got The same expression on his face; They look, when this their features fills, Like angels with internal chills.

The lover sits, the livelong day, Quite inarticulate of speech; He simply brims with things to say; Alas! the words he cannot reach, And, silent, lets occasion pa.s.s, Feeling a fulminating a.s.s.

It is the lady lover's wont To blush, and look demure or coy, To say, 'You mustn't!' and, 'Oh! don't!'