BALLAD OF THE FOXES
There is a golden glory in my song
As of a picture by Carpaccio,
For it is of the early morning-time
When every man believed with tender faith
That animals could talk—oh, lovely lore!
So, lady, listen as the lay runs on.
There was a goose, and she was travelling
Across the land for her dyspepsia,
And at the noontide sat to rest herself
In a small thicket, when there came along
Two starving foxes, perishing to find
Something which was not too-too-utter-ish
To serve for dinner. And as they were wild
For want of food, it was but natural
That they should likewise be confounded cross;
Oh, lady, listen as the lay runs on!
And as they halted near the thicket, one
Of them observed, “If you were half as sharp
As books make out, you would not now, I’ll bet,
Be ravenous enough to gnaw the grass.”
“And if you were as big, or half as big,
As you believe you are,” snarled Number Two,
“You’d be a lion of the largest size
Minus his roar, and pluck, and dignity.”
Oh, listen, lady, as the lay runs on!
“Please to observe I want no impudence
From any fifteen-nickel quadruped
Of your peculiar shape,” snapped Number One.
“And if you give me but another note
Of your chin-music,” snarled out Number Two,
“I’ll make a wreck of you, you wretched beast,
Beyond insurance—bet your tail on that!”
Oh, lady, listen as the lay runs on!
“You are the champion snob of all the beasts!”
“And you the upper scum of all the frauds.”
“You are the weathercock of infamy.”
“And you the lightning-rod of falsehood’s spire.”
“You are a thief!” “Ditto.” “You lie.” “I ain’t.”
“Shut up, you goy!” And hearing this, the goose
Could bear no more, but walking from the bush,
Put on expression most benevolent,
And said, “Oh, gentlemen, for shame! for shame!
I’ll settle this dispute: in the first place
Let me remark, as an impartial friend——”
Oh, listen, lady, as the lay runs on!
But she did not remark, because they made
A rush at her and caught her by the throat,
And ate her up; and as they picked their teeth
With toothpicks made of her last pin-feathers,
The first observed, and that quite affably,
“Only a goose would ever make attempt
To settle a dispute when foxes fight”—
Oh, lady, listen as the lay runs on!
“And while I have a very great respect
For any peacemaker,” said Number Two,
“I would suggest that I invariably
Have found, if they be really honest folk
Who interfere with reprobates like us,
They’re always eaten up; there is, I think,
More clanship between devils any day
Than among all the angels. Interest
Binds us together, and howe’er we fight
Among ourselves to ease our bitter blood,
We do not hate each other half as much
As we do hate the good. Neighbours who fight
Can generally take most perfect care,
Not only of themselves, but of the goose
Who sticks her bill into the fuss they make.
This banquet now adjourns until it meets
Another wingéd angel of the sort
Which it has just discussed—may it be soon!”
Lady, this lyric runs no further on.
EST MODUS IN REBUS
a narrative of new york
I would not say to man, “Don’t spread yourself
To win the admiration of mankind,”
Since he who never spreads can never shine,
And he who never shines is never seen,
And he who’s never seen is counted out
In the great game of life; yet what is spread
Too thin entirely, when the sun shines out
Must soon dry up and be a fly-away.
There was a man who took his daily dine
At a delightful table d’hôte, where he
Was waited on by an obedient youth,
Who, as a waiter, was a paragon
Of quick politeness. He’d apologise
If the sun shone too much, or if it rained,
And say in simple faith that he would speak
To the proprietor and have it changed,
Then vanish like an elfin fly-away.
The vulgar boarder at this table d’hôte
Was one who greatly loved to spread himself
And play the imperial before the rest;
And finding that the waiter cushioned it,
Sat down on him severely. Every time
He spoke he called him names, and said that he
Forthwith would punish him in cruel wise
Unless he tortled faster, or unless
The steak was better cooked. And then he’d swear—
Oh, death and dandelions! how he would swear!
Till all the blood of all the boarders round
Was almost turned to cherry-water ice,
And each and all wished they could fly away.
And yet this waiter had a fund reserved
Of pretty stout pugnacity and pride,
And every time the boarder called him “fool,”
Or “low-born rooster,” he would add it up
To the preceding pile of expletives,
And think it over. He did not forget
A single word. Of all the abusatives
There was not one which proved a fly-away.
At last the crisis came, when one fine day,
For some imagined fault, the boarder said
Unto the waiter, that unless he stirred
A little quicker he would bung his eye,
And take him by the legs instanter-ly
And wipe the floor with him. But with that word
He overdrew the account. That was the fly
Which overset the camel, and the drop
Which made the pail slop over. For the youth
On that let out his Injun. All at once
He turned both red and white, as fat and lean
Are seen in a beefsteak before ’tis cooked,
And blew his soul out in a fly-away.
“You misspelled copy of a gentleman
With all the meaning lost!—if you dare call
Me names again as you have often done,
I’ll bung your pallid eyes. You’ve said too much,
So now just dwindle down. I’ve always been
Obedient and polite, and served you well,
As you were never served by any one,
And all you ever gave me was abuse,
And all because you were a vulgar fool.
Now stop your noise, or I will sling you out
Of yonder window for a fly-away!”
The boarder rose as if in roaring wrath,
The waiter jerked his linen jacket off
And fairly danced about in gypsy style,
Impatient for a fight. But then the guest
As if with self-command restrained himself,
And said to the assembled company,
“There must be lines in all society
To regulate our conduct. Lines, I say,
Which separate us from the vulgar herd,
With whom we may not fight. I draw the line
At waiters.” Here he looked about the room
To be applauded; but the only sound
Which rose was that of a tremendous slap
On his own face, and then a mighty roar
Of laughter from the happy company,
For all his valour was a fly-away.
So he sat down too terrified to speak;
And then the waiter took a dripping jug
Of ice-water and poured out every drop
Upon his head, yea, water, ice, and all;
And then that boarder burst in bitter tears,
And blubbered like a boy, while all the room
Rang with redoubled laughter. Then a guest
Proposed a vote of thanks to him who had
Put down a public nuisance, and the next
Passed round a hat and took collection up
To give the waiter as a small reward
For punishing a coward. Then he rose,
And since that hour has been a fly-away.