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.