There are some folks, alas! I know
Who Fletcherize the calico
And pull out wads of hair
When now and then, as if by chance,
I lapse into the speech of France.
But—blame it on la guerre.
My accent's not Parisian, yet
It's tres bien, so said Lizette—
And surely she should know.
She never frowned and said non, non!
But she would smile and say, "Bon bon!"
Oui, oui, I get you, Bo!
Jolie Jeanne plays the Marseillaise!
I ball myself in many ways
When this I try to say.
But tres, merci, chere, and beaucoup
I say just like the Frenchies do—
Admit it, s'il vous plait.
Yet if each time I parlez vous
These friends must throw a fit or two
And shock their systems so,
I think I'll stick to plain Anglais
And say adieu to all Francais—
My Soldier-French won't go!
Spring Styles
"Well, you may talk
Of woman's wiles
Of all these lat-
Est skinny styles;
Rave over girls
Built like a slat;
But I must say
I like 'em fat!"
A girl that's fat?
Oh, no, no, No!
No lap, no waist
Nor high nor low;
An oozing mass
When weather's hot—
You like this type?
Well, I do not!
For me, a girl
That's sylph-like made,
Who's just the same
In sun or shade;
And as for me,
And I'm no churl,
Where there's no waist—
Then there's no girl!
No hefty bunch
Of av'rdupois,
No dray-horse girl
Shall share my joys;
But pocket-size,
A featherweight,
Will find me most
Affectionate.
Strictly Proper
Ol' Miss Propri'ty up an' say:
"Why will you chilluns ack this way?
Whenever I go out to walk
I see you two—an' people talk!
"Miss Grundy says to me today:
'They go to ride, an' stay an' stay.
How come her pa don't take a hand
An' call 'em down to beat the band?'
"I've tol' you time an' time again
A man should call but now and then,
Unless the priest has called the banns
An' date's been set for jinin' han's.
"'Tain't proper, no, an' it ain't right
To call or ride mos' ev'ry night.
Hear now the last word that I'll say:
You break my rules—then you must pay!"
Ol' Miss Propri'ty, who are you
That you should tell us what to do?
Your mammy was a prissy scold,
Yer dad a crabbed "sis," I'm told.
You stick to rules your grandma 'ranged,
Despite the fac' that times have changed.
Propriety, Convention—these
Are how determined, if you please?
Ol' Miss, if true I love this maid
Should I go slow and be afraid
Of what the neighbor-folk will say?
Nay, nay, a girl's not won that way!
There're nine and ninety swains, they say,
Who'd steal this maid. If I make hay
I needs must work despite the fogs,
And though it's raining cats and dogs.
Ol' Miss, if you could see her eyes
With laughter lit, or in surprise,
Or questioning, or looking grave,
Or beckoning—just hear me rave—
Could see the beauty of her face,
Her winsome ways, her lissom grace—
Ah, Miss, your rules you'd cast aside
And daily beg, "Dear, please come ride."
Then why not I? I'm human, too.
It's right for me if right for you.
You see I've got so much to say
I've gotta see her ev'ry day.
Ol' Miss she say, "My boy, you're right;
I now see things in diff'rent light.
My laws still rule the other guy,
But to your case they don't apply.
So tell her my permission's got
To call on her a nawful lot.
You've found me easy, have you lad?
All right, then try convincing Dad."