The Wit and Humor of America
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Chapter 92 : In the front parlor, there it stands, And there Jemima plies her hands, While her papa
In the front parlor, there it stands, And there Jemima plies her hands, While her papa beneath his cloak, Mutters and groans: "This is no joke!"
And swears to himself and sighs, alas!
With sorrowful voice to all who pa.s.s.
Do, re, mi, Mi, re, do.
Through days of death and days of birth She plays as if she owned the earth.
Through every swift vicissitude She drums as if it did her good, And still she sits from morn till night And plunks away with main and might, Do, re, mi, Mi, re, do.
In that mansion used to be Free-hearted hospitality; But that was many years before Jemima monkeyed with the score.
When she began her daily plunk, Into their graves the neighbors sunk.
Do, re, mi, Mi, re, do.
To other worlds they've long since fled, All thankful that they're safely dead.
They stood the racket while alive Until Jemima rose at five.
And then they laid their burdens down, And one and all they skipped the town.
Do, re, mi, Mi, re, do.
[Footnote 1: By permission of Life Publis.h.i.+ng Company.]
CRANKIDOXOLOGY[2]
BY WALLACE IRWIN
(_Being a Mental Att.i.tude from Bernard Pshaw_)
It's wrong to be thoroughly human, It's stupid alone to be good, And why should the "virtuous" woman Continue to do as she should?
(It's stupid to do as you should!)
For I'd rather be famous than pleasant, I'd rather be rude than polite; It's easy to sneer When you're witty and queer, And I'd rather be Clever than Right.
I'm bored by mere Shakespeare and Milton, Though Hubbard compels me to rave; If _I_ should lay laurels to wilt on That foggy Shakespearean grave, How William would squirm in his grave!
For I'd rather be Pshaw than be Shakespeare, I'd rather be Candid than Wise; And the way I amuse Is to roundly abuse The Public I feign to despise.
I'm a Socialist, loving my brother In quite an original way, With my maxim, "Detest One Another"-- Though, faith, I don't mean what I say.
(It's beastly to mean what you say!)
For I'm fonder of talk than of Husbands, And I'm fonder of fads than of Wives, So I say unto you, If you don't as you do You will do as you don't all your lives.
My "Candida's" ruddy as coral, With thoughts quite too awfully plain-- If folks would just call me Immoral I'd feel that I'd not lived in vain.
(It's nasty, this living in vain!)
For I'd rather be Martyred than Married, I'd rather be tempted than tamed, And if _I_ had my way (At least, so I say) All Babes would be labeled, "Unclaimed."
I'm an epigrammatical Moses, Whose humorous tablets of stone Condemn affectations and poses-- Excepting a few of my own.
(I dote on a few of my own.)
For my method of booming the market When Managers ask for a play Is to say on a bluff, "I'm so fond of my stuff That I don't want it acted--go 'way!"
I'm the club-ladies' Topic of Topics, Where solemn discussions are spent In struggles as hot as the tropics, Attempting to find what I meant.
(_I_ never can tell what I meant!)
For it's fun to make bosh of the Gospel, And it's sport to make gospel of Bosh, While divorcees hurrah For the Sayings of Pshaw And his sub-psychological Josh.
[Footnote 2: From "At the Sign of the Dollar," by Wallace Irwin.
Copyright, 1905, by Fox, Duffield & Co.]
MY HONEY, MY LOVE
BY JOEL CHANDLER HARRIS
Hit's a mighty fur ways up de Far'well Lane, My honey, my love!
You may ax Mister Crow, you may ax Mr. Crane, My honey, my love!
Dey'll make you a bow, en dey'll tell you de same, My honey, my love!
Hit's a mighty fur ways fer ter go in de night, My honey, my love!
_My honey, my love, my heart's delight-- My honey, my love!_
Mister Mink, he creeps twel he wake up de snipe, My honey, my love!
Mister Bull-Frog holler, Come alight my pipe!
My honey, my love!
En de Pa'tridge ax, Ain't yo' peas ripe?
My honey, my love!
Better not walk erlong dar much atter night, My honey, my love!
_My honey, my love, my heart's delight-- My honey, my love!_
De Bully-Bat fly mighty close ter de groun', My honey, my love!
Mister Fox, he coax 'er, Do come down!
My honey, my love!
Mister c.o.o.n, he rack all 'roun' en 'roun', My honey, my love!
In de darkes' night, oh, de n.i.g.g.e.r, he's a sight!
My honey, my love!
_My honey, my love, my heart's delight-- My honey, my love!_
Oh, flee, Miss Nancy, flee ter my knee, My honey, my love!
'Lev'n big, fat c.o.o.ns liv' in one tree, My honey, my love!
Oh, ladies all, won't you marry me?
My honey, my love!
Tu'n lef, tu'n right, we'll dance all night, My honey, my love!
_My honey, my love, my heart's delight-- My honey, my love!_
