Verse and Worse Part 9

For there may come a moment when You shall be mended, w.i.l.l.y-nilly, With many more misguided men, Whose skill is undermined with skilly.

Till then procrastinate, my friend; 'It _Never_ is Too Late to Mend!'

VII

'A BAD WORKMAN COMPLAINS OF HIS TOOLS'

This pen of mine is simply grand, I never loved a pen so much; This paper (underneath my hand) Is really a delight to touch; And never in my life, I think, Did I make use of finer ink.

The subject upon which I write Is ev'rything that I could choose; I seldom knew my wits more bright, More cosmopolitan my views; Nor ever did my head contain So surplus a supply of brain!

VIII

'DON'T LOOK A GIFT-HORSE IN THE MOUTH'

I knew a man who lived down South; He thought this maxim to defy; He looked a Gift-horse in the Mouth; The Gift-horse bit him in the Eye!

And, while the steed enjoyed his bite, My Southern friend mislaid his sight.

Now, had this foolish man, that day, Observed the Gift-horse in the _Heel_, It might have kicked his brains away, But that's a loss he would not feel; Because, you see (need I explain?), My Southern friend has got no brain.

When any one to you presents A poodle, or a pocket-knife, A set of Ping-pong instruments, A banjo or a lady-wife, 'Tis churlish, as I understand, To grumble that they're second-hand.

And he who termed Ingrat.i.tude As 'worser nor a servant's tooth'

Was evidently well imbued With all the elements of Truth; (While he who said 'Uneasy lies The tooth that wears a crown' was wise).

'One must be poor,' George Eliot said, 'To know the luxury of giving'; So too one really should be dead To realise the joy of living.

(I'd sooner be--I don't know which-- I'd _like_ to be alive and rich!)

_This_ book may be a Gift-horse too, And one you surely ought to prize; If so, I beg you, read it through, With kindly and uncaptious eyes, Not grumbling because this particular line doesn't happen to scan, And this one doesn't rhyme!

IX

POTPOURRI

There are many more Maxims to which I would like to accord a front place, But alas! I have got To omit a whole lot, For the lack of available s.p.a.ce; And the rest I am forced to boil down and condense To the following Essence of Sound without Sense:

Now the Pitcher that journeys too oft To the Well will get broken at last.

But you'll find it a fact That, by using some tact, Such a danger as this can be past.

(There's an obvious way, and a simple, you'll own, Which is, if you're a Pitcher, to Let Well alone.)

Half a loafer is never well-bred, And Self-Praise is a Dangerous Thing.

And the mice are at play When the Cat is away, For a moment, inspecting a King.

(Tho' if Care kills a Cat, as the Proverbs declare, It is right to suppose that the King will take care.)

Don't Halloo till you're out of the Wood, When a St.i.tch in Good Time will save Nine, While a Bird in the Hand Is worth Two, understand, In the Bush that Needs no Good Wine.

(Tho' the two, if they _Can_ sing but Won't, have been known, By an accurate aim to be killed with one Stone.)

Never Harness the Cart to the Horse; Since the latter should be _a la carte_.

Also, Birds of a Feather Come Flocking Together, --Because they can't well Flock Apart.

(You may cast any Bread on the Waters, I think, But, unless I'm mistaken, you can't make it Sink.)

It is only the Fool who remarks That there Can't be a Fire without Smoke; Has he never yet learned How the gas can be turned On the best incombustible c.o.ke?

(Would you value a man by the checks on his suits, And forget '_que c'est le premier pa.s.sbook qui Coutts?_')

Now '_De Mortuis Nil Nisi Bonum_,'

Is Latin, as ev'ry one owns; If your domicile be Near a Mortuaree, You should always avoid throwing bones.

(I would further remark, if I could,--but I couldn't-- That People Residing in Gla.s.shouses shouldn't.)

You have heard of the Punctual Bird, Who was First in presenting his Bill; But I pray you'll be firm, And remember the Worm Had to get up much earlier still; (So that, if you _can't_ rise in the morning, then Don't; And be certain that Where there's a Will there's a Won't.)

You can give a bad name to a Dog, And hang him by way of excuse; Whereas Hunger, of course; Is by far the Best Sauce For the Gander as well as the Goose.

(But you shouldn't judge any one just by his looks, For a Surfeit of Broth ruins too many Cooks.)

With the fact that Necessity knows Nine Points of the Law, you'll agree.

There are just as Good Fish To be found on a Dish As you ever could catch in the Sea.

(You should Look ere you Leap on a Weasel Asleep, And I've also remarked that Still Daughters Run Cheap.)

The much trodden-on Lane _will_ Turn, And a Friend is in Need of a Friend; But the Wisest of Saws, Like the Camel's Last Straws, Or the Longest of Worms, have an end.

So, before out of Patience a Virtue you make, A decisive farewell of these maxims we'll take.

PART IV

_OTHER VERSES_

BILL

(_Told by the Hospital Orderly_)

At Modder, where I met 'im fust, I thought as 'ow ole Bill was dead; A splinter, from a sh.e.l.l wot bust, 'Ad fetched 'im somewheres in the 'ead; But there! It takes a deal to kill Them thick-thatched sort o' blokes like Bill.

In the field-'orspital, nex' day, The doctors was a-makin' out The 'casualty returns,' an' they Comes up an' pulls ole Bill about; Ole Colonel Wilks, 'e turns to me, 'Report this "dangerous,"' sez 'e.

But Bill, 'oo must 'ave 'eard it too, 'E calls the doctor, quick as thought: 'I'd take it kindly, sir, if you 'Could keep me out o' the report.

'For tho' I'm 'it, an' 'it severe, 'I doesn't want my friends to 'ear.

'I've a ole mother, 'way in Kent, ''Oo thinks the very world o' me; 'I'd thank you if I wasn't sent 'As "wounded dangerous,"' sez 'e; 'For if she 'ears I'm badly hit, 'I lay she won't get over it.

'At Landman's Drift she lost a lad '(With the 18th 'Ussars 'e fell), 'Poor soul, she'd take it mighty bad 'To think o' losin' me as well; 'So please, sir, if it's hall the same, 'I'd ask you not to send my name.'

The Colonel bloke 'e thinks a bit, 'Oh, well,' sez 'e, 'per'aps you're right.