'Twas one of my most cherished dreams
To write a Moral Book some day;—
What says the Bard? 'The best laid schemes
Of Mice and Men gang aft agley!'
(The Bard here mentioned, by the bye,
Is Robbie Burns, of course,—not I.)
And tho' my pen records each thought
As swift as the phonetic Pitman,
Morality is not my 'forte,'
O Camarados! (vide Whitman).
And, like the Porcupine, I still
Am forced to ply a fretful quill.
We may be Masters of our Fate,
(As Henley was inspired to mention),
Yet am I but the Second Mate
Upon the s.s. 'Good Intention';
For me the course direct is lacking,—
I have to do a deal of tacking.
To seek for Morals here's a task
Of which you well may be despairing;
'What has become of them?' you ask.
They've given me the slip,—like Waring.
'Look East!' said Browning once, and I
Would make a similar reply.
Look East, where in a garret drear,
The Author works, without cessation,
Composing verses for a mere-
Ly nominal remuneration;
And, while he has the strength to write 'em,
Will do so still—ad infinitum!
ENVOI
Speed, flippant rhymes, throughout the land;
Disperse yourselves with patient zeal!
Go, perch upon the critic's hand,
Just after he has had a meal.
But should he still unfriendly be,
Unperch and hasten back to me.
. . . . .
O gentle maid, O happy boy,
This copy of my book is done;
But don't forget that I enjoy
A royalty on ev'ry one;
Just think how wealthy I should be,
If you would purchase two or three!