fornia lal y OCSB LIBRARY "In the very act of handing, as I reached to make a landing" SATIRE and SONG Simple Lays and Careless Rhymes Of Olden Days and Modern Times By MAURICE SWITZER NEW YORK BRUNSWICK SUBSCRIPTION COMPANY, Publishers 225 Fifth Avenue Copyright, 1917 By BRUNSWICK SUBSCRIPTION COMPANY Prepare for rhyme I'll publish, right or wrong: Fools are my theme, let satire be my song. BYRON. MANY of the verses and illus- trations published in this book appeared originally in Judge, and the author hereby ex- presses his thanks to the editors of that publication for their kind per- mission to reprint them. He also offers his apologies to Edgar Allen Poe, Thomas Hood and Edward Fitzgerald, for liberties taken with certain of their verses, without their permission. Contents Page Purple Raven 1 Wake Up, Columbia 12 To Pierrot 13 Lines to a Lady on the Fifth Floor 14 The Bills 15 A Song of the Engineer 16 Suspicion 17 Opportunity 18 The Malcontent 20 Lines to a Picture of a Lady and a Dog 21 Prayer of the Shorn Lamb 22 The Buccaneers 24 Thor's Hammer Cast 26 Her Weak Point 27 A Pipe Song . .. 28 Phyllis 29 A Tale of Two Brothers 30 A Song of the Sea 37 To a Faded Rose 39 Lines to a Straw Hat 40 The Day of Rest 41 Epitaph for Your Cook 42 The Passionate Frenchman to His American Love 43 Little Jane Homer 44 The Coat of Content 47 Life's Poker Game 49 She Wasn't Over Twenty, but She Knew Her Little Book 51 The Song of the Skirt 53 The Man of the Hour 55 Long Live the Kaiser ! 56 The Difference 57 Why Cleo Was Late 58 Owed to May 60 A Merely Mexican Madrigal 62 Hymn of the Down and Outs 64 Page A Lay of the Races 67 The Champion Fool 69 The Turning of the Worm 71 Song of the Adventurer Bold 72 When 73 The Broadway Mother Goose : The Crooked Man 76 Old Mother Hubbard 77 A Man in Our Church 77 Doctor Foster 78 The Old Woman Who Lived in a Shoe 78 The Old Man of Tobago 79 Hark ! Hark ! The Dogs Do Bark 79 Here Comes a Poor Woman 80 Johnny Now Has a New Master 80 Hey, Diddle, Diddle 81 Simple Simon 81 The Fat Man of Bombay 82 When Jackie Was a Little Boy 82 Tom, Tom, the Piper's Son 83 Clap Hands, Clap Hands 84 See Saw 84 Humpty Dumpty 84 Mrs. Sol Grundy 85 The Little Man With a Gun 85 There Was a Young Woman Named Peg 86 Little Tee Wee 86 The Slacker 87 The Ruby Yap of Homer K. Yam 89 Biographical Data 91 Notes 103 Illustrations "In the very act of handing, as I reached to make a landing" Frontispiece FACING PAGE "Nor e'en could silken slipper show" 12 A Lady and a Dog 20 "But try as she might, it was always a fight To rise before ten in the morning" 26 "The place? Any suburb. Time? Any holiday" 40 "The Troubadour of olden days" 56 "Thou art no Houri or the Prophet's lied: And if thou art the Spirit of the Wine, I'll smash the Cup I've never yet decried" 90 The Purple Raven Being an attempt to brighten the somber old Fowl of Ancient Lore, by the addition of a Little Local Color. A sort of Nocturne, in- volving a Bird and a Battle. The Purple Raven ONCE upon a midnight dreary, in a hamlet on the Erie, A benighted show disbanded, for the ghost would walk no more. Sadly down and out I landed in the village tavern stranded ! With a wardrobe second-handed; in my pocket, pennies four; With a fraction of a nickel in my wallet pennies four Just that much and nothing more. In my hall-room I reflected, growing gloomy and dejected, On the far-away Rialto with its haunts that I adore; There in sadness I sat dreaming of the lights on Broadway gleaming, Of the happy faces beaming, and the city's mighty roar: Dreaming of the distant city and its mad nocturnal roar I was sad and sick and sore! Shades of Thespis! I, MacBarret, stranded in a very garret ! I, Horatio MacBarret, who in palmy days of yore, The whole public press had lauded and the people had applauded Aye, ovations had accorded that the roof asunder tore Such applause as split the rafters and the dome asunder tore: All of that and something more. "Then," I cried, "is this the ending of a genius great transcending ! O relentless Fate, unbending, give me answer, I implore!" Thus the fickle Dame invoking, a dill-pickle I sat smoking, And the fumes of which were choking it was rot- ten to the core: 'Twas a property cigar nameless, punk to very core! Made of cabbage nothing more. Thus in pain I cogitated on that enterprise ill-fated, Widely billed with flaring posters three sheet, eight, and twenty-four As a "Monster Presentation with a Cast of Reputa- tion." (Meaning me) Its appellation was "Why Mazie Quit the Store." And by dint of iron nerve and brazen front I played the store: Only that and nothing more. Would my eminence diminish 'till at last my abject finish Was to pose in moving pictures, as, perhaps, a matador Or some figure less exalted some harlequin as- saulted, Madly chased, lassooed and halted by some burly stevedore? I could see my form upon the screen beneath the stevedore, Oozing sweat from every pore ! Here, the need of dough, however, made me sit up and endeavor To fling aside these reveries that so heavy on me bore. It was up to me to borrow or to beat it on the morrow So I realized in sorrow as I paced my chamber floor ; I saw, "Beat it, beg or borrow!" written on the chamber floor Only that and nothing more. Oh, for one I could politely touch for ten! 'Twas useless really, In advance I knew the answer to a touch 'Tis ancient lore. Then as prospects looked most dreary, and I sat despondent, weary, I heard someone singing "Dearie" 'Twas the ingenue, Lenore. Ah, a voice just like the whistle on the Erie, had Lenore : Like a siren, only more. 5 Dwelt on Easy Street this lady, on the favored side called shady, But no mummer knew the angel who financed the fair Lenore. Unto her my faith I'd anchor! She'd consent to be my banker, Or, by all the gods, I'd spank her! This most solemnly I swore, As she presently stood posing at my door. That much I swore: She had plenty, and some more. Quite ingenuous and easy, after fashion Japanesey, She declined the chair I offered and sat down upon the floor. There she squatted on the matting and kept vacu- ously chatting, While I lied without the batting of an eyelid as I swore She possessed a voice the like of which was never heard before; (Outside madhouse) ne'er before. Here, right skillfully I pleaded for the ten-spot that I needed, And she readily assented, as I'd guessed some time before. Then there came a sound perplexing, at the moment of annexing That fair ten-spot: this was vexing! Someone knocking at the door! 'Twas some butter-in, unwelcome, knocking at my chamber door It was sick'ning, nothing more. 6 "This is certainly distressing!" I remarked my- self addressing "A most unwelcome visitor come to thwart me," so I swore. Still, a calm demeanor feigning, I stalked off un- complaining, Yet with little heart remaining, and I opened wide the door; But the odor of the kitchen floated through the open door Only that and nothing more. "I was probably mistaken by the wind the door was shaken," Said I, glad indeed, no visitor was come to scare Lenore; But I scarcely was reseated ere the rapping was repeated, And again I was defeated aye, when just about to score ! Then I raced across the floor: Quick I flung aside the shutter, when, without a flirt or flutter, A curious Purple Raven did into the chamber soar: And I watched it much astounded, really speechless and dumbfounded, Calmly circle twice around it, then alight on Theo- dore Calmly land upon a pallid, plaster bust of Theodore . (Worth a quarter hardly more.) Said the fair Lenore, arising all atremble, "How surprising!" Here her confidence and courage I proceeded to restore. I remarked that in New Haven, they produced that brand of Raven, But in truth, so queer a craven I had heard of ne'er before ; Such a curious Purple Raven I had heard of ne'er before He sat brooding nothing more. Howsoever, I fell musing, 'twas ridiculous refusing To harbor this queer prodigy from some unknown, distant shore; I could sell him on the morrow! Happy thought! And now to borrow Ten. Quite listless sat the Raven on the bust of Theodore. Scarcely blinked just sat in silence on the bust of Theodore: Half awake and nothing more. I had courage now in plenty, so I raised the touch to twenty, And Lenore, she took it calmly simply nodded, nothing more. But I saw the Raven blinking rather, insolently winking 'Till I couldn't keep from thinking he was tipping off Lenore; But reflecting on her future, unobservant sat Le- nore: Here I brought her to, once more. 8 Said she, "Surely! In a minute just you wait till I unpin it." And then digging up a wad she soon peeled off one golden score. In the very act of handing, as I reached to make a landing, She quite floored me by demanding, "Say, when will you this restore? I would like to know for certain when this twenty you'll restore?" Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore !" How I trembled 'twixt vexation rage surprise exasperation! Oh, was ever man confounded by a bird like this before? Cried I, "Thing of evil, learned in the devil's art! Goldurn it ! Beast! when said you I'd return it?" Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore!" Thus the wretched fowl reiterated calmly, "Never- more." Only that and nothing more. Said Lenore, "How very funny! I I think I'll keep my money I believe that bird's our hoodoo he's pursuing us ! O, Lor!" 'Round the wad her fingers tightened and her rosy face grew whitened, As she stumbled, badly frightened, towards the open chamber door And she never stopped a minute when she reached the open door Simply beat it, nothing more. 9 As she left, my hope departed, and I stood there broken-hearted, Gazing blankly at the darkened hall beyond the chamber door. "She'll return again," I muttered, but the words were scarcely uttered When the Raven croaked and sputtered his por- tentous "Nevermore!" Just to mock me in my sorrow he kept croaking "Nevermore !" From his perch on Theodore. Out my stupor then I started for this taunt a sting imparted, That unloosed my store of cuss-words and a stream I did outpour! Screaming, "Demon ! Fiend ! You Craven of a blab- bing, prating Raven ! If from hell or from New Haven, get thee out my chamber door!" Here I flung a pitcher at him, hit and shattered Theodore ! Flew the Raven to the floor. There he grew above the table, like the giant Roc of fable Then he grabbed me by the collar with a yank that hurt me sore. Next he clawed me, bit and poked me, stood me off again and soaked me, Jerked me back again and choked me, till I sank upon the floor. Till all consciousness departed and I swooned upon the floor. 'Twas my finish, nothing more. 10 I awoke. The sun was streaming through the case- ment. Was I dreaming? Was this silken couch I lay on an illusion, nothing more? Were these tapestries and drapings all around me mental fakings? Merely visionary shapings that a subtle likeness bore Yes, a strange familiar likeness to environments of yore? Was I smoking nothing more? No ! Ye gods and little fishes ! Yon debris of bottles dishes Those cigar and cigarette butts all the chamber scattered o'er, To quick consciousness restore me. Then I knew, and then I swore me, With the Raven still before me, I'd drink soda evermore ! And whene'er the Tempter lures me, bids me hit it up once more, Half is soda maybe more. 11 Wake Up, Columbia A Marching Song LET the bugles ring, Columbia, unsheath your mighty sword! Across the blue Atlantic waits a great embattled horde. An alien foe affronts you and his proud, defiamt knights Have scoffed at your traditions and have trampled on your rights. CHORUS: Wake up! arise, Columbia) fling your banner to the skies! For liberty is fettered and the pinioned eagle cries! Show the nations, proud Columbia, that the spirit moves you still, That led us on at Concord and prevailed at Bunker Hill! Then sound the charge, Columbia, and with mighty thrust of steel, Do your bit to lift from Europe the oppressor's iron heel! Raise the flag on ev'ry rampart, let it flutter o'er the sea, Plant Old Glory in the trenches as the emblem of the Free! 12 "Nor e'en could silken slipper show" 3 Let them write us down as cowards with souls for- ever lost, When we fail to rise for Freedom nor stop to count the cost ; We'll march with Tommy Atkins and we'll liquidate the debt, Too long already owed to France, who sent us Lafay- ette! To Pierrot DEJECTED Pierrot, lift thy head And string anew thy lute. What boots it if the leaves are dead As blinded Love is mute? Ere Moses in the Nile was hid, Ere Joseph had been sold Or Cheops built his pyramid Thy tale was ages old. Far wiser fools than thou, Pierrot, Have sued for favors few, Nor e'en could silken slipper show Some got her sire's shoel 13 Lines to a Lady on the Fifth Floor (From the Gentleman on the Fourth) LADY on the floor above, Charming, chic, entrancing. You're the type that I could love, But I hate your dancing! Pleasant, your infectious laugh, Musical and rippling: But your dreadful phonograph Soon will have me tippling. Tango, trot and bunny hug All your heart desires ; Only, lady, use a rug 'Till my lease expires. The Bills HERE'S the postman with the bills, Christmas bills! What a world of merriment gray January kills ! How the bills keep on arriving By the dozens in each mail, While my weary pen I'm driving Over reams of paper, striving To frame excuses stale Into some artistic stall That will stand 'em off 'till Fall. And the tintinnabulation of the 'phone induces chills, It's bills, bills, overdue Christmas bills Collectors on the telephone with bills. 15 A Song of the Engineer PRAISE if you will his dizzy flights And the birdman's daring deeds; Sing if you will of your visored knights On their sturdy, armored steeds; Applaud the skill and you'll not be wrong Of the Roman charioteer, But I shall celebrate in my song The deeds of one unsung too long The valorous Engineer, Besmeared and drab in his engine cab The valiant Engineer. Oh, he drives his steed of a hundred tons With the speed of a hurricane, As he splits the night in his hurtling flight To his siren's shrill refrain. When grim Disaster stalks the track In his thundering engine's van, With resolute heart he plays his part And dies at the throttle a man! Aye, the Engineer is a man ! 16 Suspicion 1AM the real iconoclast ; I shatter hope and joy; I am the sincere pessimist, With passion to destroy. I mingle with the middle-class And with the smarter set; I am the blighting fog of doubt, I am the blanket wet! I am the sable cloak of gloom ; I seldom crack a smile. I see no joy in living, I am the god of bile. Whene'er the failure takes a flop, I ease misfortune's blow By swelling up and saying, "Why, Of course, I told you so!" I am the true obstructionist ; I am the evil eye ; I am the cheerful mourner With the ever-ready sigh. I am the man with free advice, Who steers you off the trail : Suspicion is my family name I'm also known as Fail. 17 Opportunity OPPORTUNITY, thou vague, uncertain thing! Whose potency is preached, whose praises poets sing, I launch upon thy head this tirade of abuse, Thou friend of Failure, thou ready-made Excuse, Thou specious, tinsel Idol, Wizard, Witch or Fay, To whom the wistful Dreamer and the Lazy, pray ! Thou over-rated, false, delusive Golden Calf, At whom the practical and the courageous laugh ! How much, O Opportunity, hast thou done For those whose deeds have Fame's immortal chaplet won? Did not this Western World lie in the self-same spot For countless centuries ere Noah was begot? And had Columbus idly sat in slothful ease, Or had he wooed thy favor on his bended knees, Instead of stiffening beneath frustration's blow, Tell me, would he have found this continent, or no? And what important part, if any, didst thou play, When old Ben Franklin, on that memorable day In June, with silken kite and iron key did wrest The great Electric Secret from the storm king's breast? And Bonaparte, in Corsica's secluded isle Didst thou always upon his enterprises smile? Or did he sally forth and with relentless lust, Resistless will and skill grind kingdoms in the dust? 18 And Watt ? Did he await thy knock and idly dream Of wondrous, new and mighty engines run by steam? Or did he toil until his dream came true? and Howe Lincoln Morse what won for them? their in- dustry, or thou? So, scan the galaxy of illustrious dead Or living, O Opportunity, and hide thy head ! Wherefore I sing to Will, to Judgment and to Pluck, And not to thee, for thou art merely twin to Luck ! 19 The Malcontent TALK not to me of war of just and righteous strife; Of lying Austrians, Turks and Huns, I hate the warlike drum, the bugle and the fife, Your armored cars, your bayonetted guns And all the other glitt'ring panoply and pomp Attendant on the progress of the troops In khaki or in blue that ever march and romp Light-heartedly with ringing songs or whoops Or both, through every city street and country lane From south of Florida to Hudson Bay, From west of California's strand to east of Maine, As if to make a merry holiday. I have, alas ! no stomach for a rousing cheer, Nor feel inspired by some noisy throng To shake the welkin, when the Stars and Stripes appear, By joining in some patriotic song; And every time a martial column marches by I curse the sorry day that I was born, While bootlessly my angry passion rises high, My heart by various emotions torn. A pacifist, you say? You're wrong; that am I not! Nor yet a slacker. Therefore get this straight: I stand in fear of neither bayonet nor shot; I storm and fume because the conflict came too late ! 20 A Lady and a Dog In dash and spirit I am twenty-five years old, In years some fifty-five. "Too old to fight!" This, by the lying beggars I am told ; So I'm compelled to stay at home and write ! Lines to a Picture of a Lady and a Dog HER parted lips recall the budding rose; Her shapely shoulders shame the lily. The subtle charm of Daphne marks her pose ; Her hair? I fear the color's silly. 'Twould take a canto just to catalogue The graces of her figure slender. I quite forgot a couplet to the dog 5 But, really, I don't know its gender. 21 Prayer of the Shorn Lamb PRITHEE gentle stranger or if, perhaps, thou art my friend Take what I say in kindliness; I mean not to offend. But if, perchance, thou hast a plan that only doth entail One hundred bucks to yield a million profit without fail; Or if, perhaps, thou hast some other simple little scheme By which to bring me fortune far beyond my wild- est dream Some inside information of a confidential deal That means much easy money in, say, cotton, wheat or steel; Or dost thou merely wish to give me free some standard books; To stake me to a gratis ocean voyage, via Cook's ; To sell nay, give me at a dime a share some oil- land stock; Or fine suburban lot for naught, that's worth a city block; Convey to me an interest in some wondrous patent new, For say, perhaps, a measly little dollar bill or two- Then let me tell thee ere thou dost attempt one word to say, 'Tis useless ! So unfold no tale, but get thee on thy way! 22 I've played the string, nor left one easy means to wealth untried: But where the meanest low-brow might have cashed, there have I died. I grant thy scheme is mighty good, original and new; That truly thou dost honor me by thy selection, too. And, yet, I also know that if gold nuggets fell like hail, I'd probably be doing time within some county jail! To me all things look good ; to every one I hark. I am the real soft thing the ever-ready easy mark; So go thy way and tempt me not, but be content to let Me plug along and earn my little wage by honest sweat. I seek not affluence, nor yet some easy road to fame ; I want no sinecure, nor care to court the Fickle Dame. I only ask, dear friend, this little boon : to work my own Salvation, remain a hired man, and to be let alone. 23 The Buccaneers WE'RE led to believe from the tales of old, That the buccaneer was a ruffian bold, Who always affected a scarlet sash, Which matched the color of his fierce mustache. That his neck was bared to his hairy chest, Tattooed upon which was a death's head crest; That oft he reveled in a red necktie And an emerald patch upon one eye. Oh, his brow was low and his hands were gnarled,- And his jaw shot out as he fiercely snarled At his cringing crew and shockingly swore To wade knee-deep in innocent gore; That pistols peeped from his top-boots wide, And a cutlass jangled with every stride As he stamped the deck of his pirate ship And bellowed commands with a curling lip. Oh, the ships he sank and the grog he drank! And the innocents he made walk the plank! As he robbed the galleons bound for Spain In the great old days of the Spanish Main. Now, to-day, though his work is not so rough, He still is pulling the same old stuff. His manners are changed and his form of dress; The swag is greater but the risks are less. He has swapped his trim old brigantine For a private yacht and a limousine. 24 He's a social bird on a lofty perch, A power in the councils of state and church. Oh, he stamps no decks and he cuts no throats And he seldom rants and he rarely gloats; He wears excellent clothes and tall top hats, Tortoise-shell glasses and probably spats; His voice is low and his manners urbane And he frowns upon language the least profane; He never sheds blood in the crude old way That used to be the vogue in Morgan's day. But, oh, his flights to rhetorical heights In the marvellous ads he glibly writes! As he floats an issue of watered stock To subscribe to which the innocents flock! And when he needs some additional spoil, He elevates the price of beef or oil: When his lady fair for a necklace begs, He adds a few cents to the price of eggs. Oh, he gathers his toll, this pirate bold, From the high and the low, the young and old; He gives no reason and he pleads no cause, For his money helped to enact our laws. So we lift our eyes in admiring gaze To him who skilfully managed to raise The sanguinary, blood-stained buccaneer, To the painless, eminent financier. 25 Thor's Hammer Cast (From "Gems (?) of German Thought." An Anthology of the German War Scriptures. Compiled by William Archer.) THOR stood at the midnight end of the world, His battle-mace flew from his hand : "So far as my clangorous hammer I've hurled Mine are the sea and the land !" And onward hurtled the mighty sledge O'er the wide, wide earth, to fall At last on the Southland's furthest edge In token that His was all. Since then 'tis the joyous German right With the hammer, lands to win. We mean to inherit world-wide might As the Hammer-God's kith and kin. Felix Dahn. Yea, he swung his mace in a circle wide And it flew from his brawny fist, And fell where the souls of the Vandals ride Storm-tossed in a crimson mist! Aye, it rested not on the Southland's edge, Where ye say the hammer fell, For it slid from there with a broken pledge, To the fathomless pits of hell. So now, 'tis the German's joyous right, As the Hammer-God's kith and kin, To follow his mace in its hurtling flight To the home of the Kaiser's twin. 26 "But try as she might it was always a fight To rise before ten in the morning." For nothing shall stay ye now, O fools, Who have reddened your neighbor's sod, Till ye rest in hell's putrescent pools With the mace of your pagan god ! Her Weak Point |HYLLIS could ride, side-seat or astride, And Phyllis could drive her own motor; She could row, she could walk, and capably talk On the stump for the feminine voter. Phyllis could swim with vigor and vim, She could dance till the morrow was dawning; But try as she might, it was always a fight To rise before ten in the morning. 27 A Pipe Song I LOVE not your tankard of musty old ale, Nor the brew of October or May; Nor care I a snap for the colorless sap Of the succulent grape of Tokay; Not a farthing of brass would I give for a glass Of the wine that is rosy and ripe As lips made to kiss Oh, my notion of bliss Is a pull at my good old pipe ! Oh, give me a pipe of the god-like weed And the demon of gloom is a joke; For the blackest despair will dissolve in the air With the wreaths of the balmy, blue smoke. You may drink to your fill any vintage you will Or sit down with Lucullus to dine, But there's nothing I know on this planet below, I'd exchange for this old pipe of mine! 28 Phyllis A BUTTERFLY hovered on golden wings Awhile o'er a full blown rose And probed for the honeyed, fragrant things That in flowers' hearts repose. He tried a sip from a daffodil's lip, And kissed a violet shy; Then up with a wavering rise and dip, .He rose towards the summer sky. But Phyllis, who sat in a garden chair, Dawned on the butterfly's view: He thought her some fragrant exotic rare, And changed his course. Wouldn't you? 29 A Tale of Two Brothers PROLOGUE /V Bilgewater City, 'twixt Maine and Cape Horn, Henry and Peter, two brothers, were born. These two were as different as daylight from dark : One was a goldfish and the other, a shark. And this is their story it's more or less true. The tale may be old, but the epilogue's new. HENRY Young Henry at school was the joy of his teachers. He was studious, apt, complaisant and clean One of those lovable, shy little creatures, Who practice no juvenile tricks that are mean. II And Henry grew up, as was freely predicted, An industrious youth, straightforward and frank, And although his chances for wealth were restricted, He started with hope in the Bilgewater Bank. 30 Ill From office boy, Henry advanced to a teller, And held down that job with great credit, a year; But as Henry looked up not down toward the cellar He kept an eye peeled for the job of cashier. IV Cashier he became, as he fully expected, Before he had turned twenty-seven or eight; And, that much accomplished, he wisely reflected, 'Twas time he acquired a suitable mate. J he girl he picked out, as a maiden worth landing, Was stylishly pretty, demure and inane. And Henry, by now having recognized standing, This Bilgewater belle was not courted in vain. VI As time slipped along he became Chief Inspector Or something high up in the Purity League ; Trustee of the church; of his bank a director; Performing his tasks with no sign of fatigue. VII So far, he could boast that his record was flawless All praise to the road that is narrow and straight ; But strange are the methods of crooks that are lawless, And queer are the whims and the antics of fate. 31 VIII While off in New York, on a needed vacation, This circumspect, moral and careful, good man, Ran 'foul of a damsel in Grand Central Station, Who called him by name so the narrative ran. IX What happened to him he could never remember; He woke in a place that was called a hotel. The room was as bare and as bleak as December, His wrist-watch was gone and his wallet as well. He informed the police, and then a young fellow Who worked on the Ledger got wise to the mess : Then the Eilgewater Bugle, in style very yellow, Reprinted the story. The rest you can guess. XI Well, when Henry got home his welcome was hearty, (As any mad dog's in a populous street). The bank recalled pictures of "Peary and Party," For the hands that he clasped were colder than sleet. xn His character bore not the shade of suspicion In all of these years not a spot or a smirch Still he lost a good wife and better position, And they fired him bodily out of the church. 32 XIII But what is the use to continue his story? Suffice it to say that his journey was rough. We'll ring down the curtain on Henry, grown hoary, And turn to the record of Peter the Tough. PETER Young Peter quit school at the age of eleven. His refusal to go was final and flat. He scoffed at the orthodox version of heaven, He teased the canary and tortured the cat. n He trailed with a gang of young ruffians unholy, And would fight like a Turk, as quick as a wink. He wasted his days and his evenings were solely Devoted to deeds that were blacker than ink. in This dreadful young Tartar, so tough and pug- nacious, This brigand, by nature designed for the chair, Had a streak in him still, that was somewhat sagacious A natural cunning which one might compare, IV To a fox or a lynx or maybe that tiger On which the young lady who went for a ride, Returned, you'll recall, to their starting place, Niger. (The beast wore a smile and the lady inside.) 33 Well, Peter grew up both a pride and a terror: The pride of his ward which he ruled like a czar The bane of the pious, who held him in error And vowed that the devil would boil him in tar ! VI He prospered, at that, though his money was tainted Which fact never worried the gentleman much For he owned a saloon where damosels painted, Regaled Jimmy-Valentine gentry and such. VII Immune "higher up" for his vote-getting power, Transgressing the law gave him little concern. His influence grew with his pull by the hour, Until Peter, at last, had money to burn. VIII He sold out his dive and became a contractor, And set out to be the political boss: His wad proved to be the determining factor, So boss he became, as a matter of course. IX Father of graft and political jobbery, He was publicly scathed, denounced and reviled; The civic reformers charged him with robbery And other high crimes but old Peter just smiled. 34 Came a time when Peter, grown tired of action, Began to give thought to his wavering health. He also found out there was small satisfaction In the mere piling up of purposeless wealth. XI He wearied of strife and of crooks and ward-heelers, And to find for himself a place in the sun, He began to put forth some tentative feelers, As thousands of Peters before him have done. XII He bought an estate in the proper location; Began to talk vaguely of "sins" and "remorse ;" And feeling that golf was a safe recreation, He practiced the game on his own private course. xni Then one evening he asked the parson to dinner, And though the good man was a trifle in doubt, His business was seeking, not shunning the sinner, So his reverence went to smoke Beelzebub out. XIV He succeeded so well in filling with pity, The heretofore adamant heart of his host, That Peter presented the links to the city. And wrote out a check for the church that almost 35 XV Lifted the mortgage and that great abnegation Proved quite that his soul had been purged and was free; So the deacons, convinced of his perfect salvation, Took him into the fold and made him trustee. EPILOGUE Now all of this just goes to prove, That man may sin a-plenty, And keep it up consistently, For ten years or for twenty; And in the end, he may reform, Be honored, loved and trusted. But Virtue, is a toy balloon One puncture and it's busted! 36 A Song of the Sae YOUNG FERDINAND was a sailor bold, With a girl in every port; To every one his love he told, To each of them paid court. But short was his stay when he had won The maid he came to woo, For love to him was only fun, And he boasted of it, too. 'Twas the same old game with a change of name, Till he met with Belle Marie, And little he thought, he'd at last been caught, As his usual song sang he : "I've shipped on the Lakes and sailed the brine, And forty-four times I've crossed the Line. In Singapore, I'd a first-mate's bunk; And I've been the captain of a Chinese junk; But, bust my nob with a marlin spike, If ever before I've seen the like Of a lass as neat and trim as you, From the coast of Maine to Kismayu." So when he had won the heart and hand Of innocent Belle Marie, Off marched the doughty Ferdinand, To join his ship at sea. But he hadn't gone far ere Brother Gus, A man of might and main, Poked under his nose a blunderbus And marched him back again. At a jeweller's shop he bade Ferd stop And buy a wedding ring; Then he saw them wed and smilingly said, "Brother Ferdinand, you may sing: "I've shipped on the Lakes and sailed the brine f And forty-four times I've crossed the Line. In Singapore, I'd a first-mate's bunk; And I've been the captain of a Chinese junk; But, bust my nob 'with a marlin spike, If ever before I've seen the like Of a lass as neat and trim as you, From the coast of Maine to Kismayu" 38 To a Faded Rose o FADED, shrivelled, scentless bud, Mem'ry sweet of moments rare, Cruelly crushed 'twixt musty leaves Of a volume of Voltaire ! Ah, how your withered form awakes Long forgotten dreams of yore Resuscitating from the past Visions of sweet Eleanor! She seems to stand beside me now, Charming in her girlish grace; Again your crimson petals peep From those folds of filmy lace Nestling at her lovely neck. By the light of starlit skies Read I, as I held her close, Love's sweet message in her eyes. She gave you to me. Precious bud! Passionately then I swore To hold you as a priceless gem, Dear to me as life aye more! And have I kept that fervid oath? Well I've never let you go: I've kept you with like souvenirs Of Beatrice, Grace and Flo. 39 Lines to a Straw Hat DEAR Hat the "dear" is not in fond affection, The truth is that I purchased you because When I set out to make my spring selection I thought you were a bargain rare in straws I think that you were legended as "Nifty, Imported Bangkok, Modish. Just reduced. Was Seven Dollars Now, dollar fifty!" By which sophistic phrase I was seduced. But scarcely had you graced my dome cephalic When vagrant breezes wafted you aloft, And as you lit, some humorous smart-aleck Kicked you where the mud lay thick and soft. Half a buck restored your pristine beauty, And then I hied me to my fav'rite inn, Where sits a siren taking toll or booty For every lid left in her sacred bin. I've tried to dodge this nymph of hats and hashes And sneak you by her, carelessly, offhand ; But one swift glance from 'neath her silken lashes, Believe me, is sufficient reprimand ! Then back I go, abashed, in full surrender, And hand you to this lady buccaneer, To ransom you anon with legal tender Or meet the withering glances of the dear. For thirty days, at luncheon and at dinner, I've paid a dime as a tribute for your keep ; Thus far you've set me back eight bones, you sinner ! Unfaithful tile, who said that you were cheap? 40 "The place.-" Any suburb. Time? Any holiday" The Day of Rest BILLOWS of dust to blue heaven ascending, Effacing the landscape from view; Maliferous odors the nostrils offending, Outsmelling a caldron of glue. Sounds that the devil himself hath invented, From rumbles like far thunder's roll To hair-raising shrieks of a being demented Or the wail of a tortured soul. The place? Any suburb. Time? Any holiday, When the wind isn't overly keen. The cause ? Just the city folk out for a jolly day, In any old kind of machine. One-lunger, two-lunger, de-bodied chassis, Motor bikes, taxicabs, trucks, Limousines, runabouts anything that you please, Driven by old and young bucks. The butcher, the baker, the buttonhole maker, Their uncles and cousins and aunts, The doctor, the lawyer, the grim undertaker P. S. and the ambulance! 41 Epitaph for Your Cook HERE reposes what is mortal of YSABEL McSWATT, As competent a cook as ever Wrestled with a pot. 'Twere useless quite, when in her prime, A better maid to seek: This is the only place she's stayed in Longer than a week. 42 The Passionate Frenchman to His American Love i CANNOT write at all Anglais, You comprehend not French ; But this shall not my passion slay Nor make my love to quench. Inside my heart is not the room For other maid's desire; With fire of love I am consume With passion I perspire. I see you at the table d'hote, I watch your eye of blue; But you decline of me to note You study the menu. You cannot read those French entrees- I'm force to such belief Because each night I hear you say, "Oh, bring me some roze beef!" O roses lips ! O night-black hair Of blushing maid petite! For me if you shall learn to care, I teach you how to eat! 43 Little Jane Horner LITTLE JANE HORNER sat in her corner, Pounding her writing machine. She'd a rose-tinted face and particular grace And only an aunt in Racine. For a year and a half she'd been getting the laugh From a neighboring yellow-haired wren, Who called her a freak well, her wages per week Were maybe eight dollars or ten, And she couldn't get gay on that generous pay, Nor cut very much of a swath; It was twilight or gloom in her little hall-room, And she had to go out for a bath. Of course, you can guess that the style of her dress Would have passed in the West for some clothes, But on upper Broadway in Manhattan, nay, nay! And the same thing was true of her hose. Still, she grew rather fond of the willowy blonde Who pounded the other machine, For that lady was wise and she opened the eyes Of little Jane H. of Racine. And she showed her, my dear, how on nothing a year One wore marvelous dresses and hats, 44 And could drive in the Park and go out for a lark And pay rent in the swellest of flats. But the small one blushed red and nodded her head And went back to her room off the hall, Where she waited in vain for a chivalrous swain But the gentleman never did call. And the blonde merely laughed and jollied and chaffed, 'Till the other one got the belief That virtue meant tears and long, lonely years, While transgression insured against grief. Had the lady been wood, she might have stayed good In the gloom of her beanery cell ; But being just flesh, she got caught in the mesh Of desire's drag-net which is hell. Little Jane Horner now lies in some corner, (The place isn't marked by a stone) She set them a pace but got lost in the race And she died in the finish alone. Little Jane Horner left no one to mourn her; No, not even the aunt in Racine: For every one knew Jane was wicked clean through Still, she wasn't much over eighteen ! 45 Though the parson asserts that she got her deserts For looking at virtue askance, Yet, between you and me, I think you'll agree, That she never had much of a chance. And if Gabriel's blast does summon at last All sinners to stand in a row, I'd rather be plain little profligate Jane, Than that parson who judged her below. The Coat of Content THE King was sick. For it happens to be That imperial flesh is heir To the most plebian sort of an ill, That merely calls for a lotion or pill ; But here was a case that baffled the skill Of the Royal Leech, for fair. Deep was the gloom that pervaded the Court. For they didn't know what to do, As every whiskered and wise M. D., With his predecessor would disagree Except, perhaps, in the size of his fee Hence, the Ministers felt blue. Came a spectacled man in a spangled robe, Who looked at the King and said : "This isn't a case for a medicine-man, We'll work it out on a different plan ; To-night the Heavens I'll carefully scan, Then tell you what I have read." The following morn said the Spangled Bard, "The Planets this message send: 'If the coat of a man who is content, Be placed for a day on the shoulders bent, Of your Monarch most high and excellent, His Majesty's health will mend/ " 47 So the Couriers sped with feverish haste. A Contented Man to find, And acquire his coat, and bring- it back If green or red, whether purple or black, Toga or gaberdine, doublet or sack, Or jerkin, leather-lined. Four Messengers left ; and there straggled back Three of them haggard and spent, Who told how they'd traveled from camp to court, From monastery to pleasure resort, Yet most regretfully had to report They had found no man content. Now things looked bad ; but a confident band Would never a defeat confess : That three of the Messengers failed, was true, But the fourth Envoy was overdue, Which fact, in the judgment of just these few, Spelled certainly some success. Then the fourth man came, and at sight of him The wildest of joy prevailed. A man content was discovered, said he, So the populace danced and shouted in glee Yea, every man hugged his neighbor save three The Messengers who had failed. "The jacket! He's got it! Long live the King!" Voiced many a clarion throat. But the Messenger sadly shook his head "I have found the Contented Man," he said, "But he hadn't a sou not a single red, And he couldn't afford a coat !" 48 Life's Poker Game T HE world is only a deck of cards, And Life is a game of poker, With fulls and flushes and single pairs, Fours of a kind and the joker. Aces are Captains of Industry Who have systematized the Street: A combination of three or four Is a difficult hand to beat. And Kings are merely the Gilded Youths, Who carelessly blow in their stacks: They're Kings so long as the bank-roll lasts But after it's gone they are Jacks. Queens are the ladies the Kings regale With wine that is sparkling and old : Many a time has a single Queen Cost a confident fool his gold. The Deuce is the chap who trails along With the Kings and Queens a fly one Never was known to decline a glass And he never was known to buy one. And Treys to Tens are the Middle Class Who once in a while get a bone: When united they're sometimes a factor, But they count for little alone. 49 Three of a kind to a little Straight, Are the Hopes upon which we build: We back them to find in the show-down, That the other fellow has filled. And Love compares with a Bobtailed Flush, And the Draw is Marriage, we'll say: For whether you help your hand or not, You've still got to ante away. Two Pairs correspond to Temptation: They lead you to raise or to call. It's a white chip here and blue one there, 'Till you've wasted your stack that's all. Dishonesty that is the Joker. He lurks where you never suspect, Forever upsetting your judgment, Until your resources are wrecked. And Fours surely typify Friendship Dealt a loser once in a while: But most of the time drawn by the man Who has stacked up the tallest pile. A Royal Flush represents Success The rarest hand f the lot: Full many a man has achieved it And then won a very small pot! 50 She Wasn't Over Twenty, But she Knew Her Little Book HE met her in the Springtime, and she made an instant hit; He thought she was a sprite from fairyland. To get an introduction well, he simply threw a fit, And then he waded in and won her hand. She wasn't over twenty, but she knew her little book, And her manner was so innocently frank, That when she wanted something, she'd assume a certain look, And, really, he'd have gone and robbed a bank. She was such a tiny creature, so child-like and demure, With the cutest little dimples when she'd smile; But her schemes for getting coin made the Standard Oil look poor, And had Ford and Morgan beaten by a mile ! And when it came to spending, it is not too much to say, That his doll-like, little wonder of a wife, Could break the U. S. Treasury and also get away With the surplus of the Equitable Life. 51 When she looked up at him coyly, slipped her arm about his neck, And lisped some baby talk she had him won ; Then he'd take his fountain-pen in hand and write her out a check, Though he felt at heart that he was being done. No man could call him easy, and his will was pretty strong, He was wise enough to know when being strung; But this dainty piece of bric-a-brac just had him right along, And when he got his senses he was stung! He declared she was a corker she was certainly all that; For rapid work she never had a peer. She wed him, broke him, fled him and divorced him In North Platte, And picked another live one in a year. She left him her unsettled bills, which he was made to pay; She left him feeling cheap and very blue ; But he's bearing up much better since he read, the other day, That another boob has fallen for her, too. 52 The Song of the Skirt FROM eight o'clock in the morn Till many a night past ten, The bookkeeper sits in his iron cage, Driving his pencil and pen. His clothes are ancient and frayed, He wears a buttonless shirt, And his collars cut like a razor's edge, While he sings the song of the skirt: It's work, work, work, From the moment I hit the shop! And work, work, work, Like the dull, perspiring wop! And when hunger drives me home Why, a dog would rebel at the hash! For my better half is an ornament, But I must hustle for cash! It's work, work, work, From now till the crack of doom! She'll work, work me But never the good old broom ! She doesn't know how to cook, And she doesn't know how to mend, But I can work like the barbarous Turk, So she'll have money to spend. 53 But wherefore do I complain? Am I in my grief alone Look at the boss in his easy chair, And he has cares of his own. He has wrinkles on his brow, And those eyes that were alert Are heavy today, and his hair is gray, While he sings the song of the skirt It's work, work, work, And hustle and scheme and strive! And work, work, work, To keep my credit alive! For I must put up a front, For the sake of daughter and wife ; And business is dull, and my old skull Refuses to come to life. It's bills, bills, bills, From tradesmen of every rank! And bills, bills, bills, While I'm overdrawn at the bank! It's pay, pay, pay! Oh, the bills come in by the ream ! Till over the bills I fall asleep And write out checks in a dream! 54 "Long Live the Kaiser!" PUBLISHER'S NOTE: The verses under the above caption which appear on page 56, were written by Mr. George Douglas, and were included in this book by a curious error not discovered until after publication. A number of poems all bearing the same title were written by The American Press Humorists at the sug- gestion of Mr. Switzer, and published in a small volume. In se- lecting some additions for this (the second} edition of SATIRE & SONG, the lines of Mr. Douglas were reprinted instead of those of Mr. Switzer which are as follows: LONG live the Kaiser ! Aye, long be his life Beyond the span allotted mortal men. When o'er the fest'ring, blood-drenched fields of strife The healing sun of Peace shall shine again, Long may he live, and, as the years take flight, Live on with mem'ry strong, but body frail; Haunted in the still watches of the night Ever by some murdered infant's ghostly wail. Long live the Kaiser ! Let this be his fate : To live when those he cherished most have died, Their funeral dirge his own sweet Hymn of Hate, And, craving death, to have his prayer denied. So let him live for weary, endless years Amid pale sepulchres washed white with tears. The Man of the Hour i RECALL you, Smith, before I knew my letters, And later when we both attended school. While in many ways I knew you had your betters, You were absolutely peerless as a fool. I remember how you slaughtered English grammar, How you tackled simple fractions all in vain; How geography the teacher failed to hammer Into what was called by courtesy, your brain. I remember that some twenty-one years later, When you had attained at least a man's physique, You were toiling for your honorable pater, And were overpaid at fifteen bucks a week. I remember that at every social function You were always just a sort of standing joke; The women kidded you without compunction, Or they let you sit alone outside and smoke. So I marveled at the wonderful ovation You received upon your entrance here tonight, And I wondered by what magic transformation Could contempt be changed to feminine delight. To the riddle, though, I found a ready answer, Ere the orchestra had struck a dozen bars: As a "trotter" I could see you were some dancer! So I'm glad 7 brought along a few cigars. 55 Long Live the Kaiser! (May he live long enough to read this he may not live after.) LONG live the Kaiser ! May he live Forever and forever, And may the peace that Death can give Be Wilhelm's blessing never. Long live the Kaiser not his yoke Long live, but not long reign ; We would not doom his German folk To bear eternal pain. Long live the Kaiser, may his years, If counted they must be, Be counted by the countless tears Wrought by his infamy. Long live the Kaiser ! May he dwell Where he can daily learn Some detail of the earthly hell That Wilhelm caused to burn. Long live the Kaiser, live to view The evil he has done. Some day, perhaps, another Sue May write "The Wandering Hun." Long live the Kaiser, yet, and yet, Though little good men bear him, Twere better could the world forget It certainly can spare him. 56 "The Troubadour of olden days' Poetic justice it might be To save him from the Reaper But who so steeped in villainy Deserves to be his keeper ? The Difference THE Troubadour of olden days Would pluck his classic, tuneful lute Beneath the casement of some beaut, And warble fervid roundelays. The Poet now has changed his tools: With fountain pen he woos the beaut And gets a breach-of-promise suit. Those Troubadours were not such fools. 57 Why Cleo Was Late HONORA MULCAHY, of Riverside Drive, Whose stage-name was Cleo Du Vail, Was due at rehearsal at ten twenty-five, But to her time meant nothing at all. She worked in the chorus, position in front, And she hadn't a line in the play; To merely look stunning and smart was her stunt, And thirty per week was her pay. The manager strode up and down and he swore 'Till the air in the play-house got blue ; He declared he'd put up with her nonsense no more That this was her end he was through! She turned up at last, and at absolute ease, Walked on at a leisurely gait, Met the manager's gaze, and, as cool as you please, Said sweetly, "I guess I am late." "You guess!" roared the manager, purple with rage, In a voice one could hear for a block ; "I said twenty-five minutes past ten on the stage! Will you please take a slant at the clock ? 58 "What happened this morning?" the manager mocked, "I suppose it's the usual stall Your alarm-clock was stopped ? The subway was blocked ? You neglected to put down a call? " Said the lady, adjusting her pearls, "I am late," Here she flecked a few threads from her coat, "Not at all, Mr. Grimes, for the reasons you state, So there ain't no use losing your goat. "This morning, I simply just couldn't decide As to using my clover-leaf Pearce, Or in which of my Rolls limousines I would ride And the traffic was certainly fierce !" Owed to May FAIR girl your name suggesting gentle spring And you so young and rosy-lipped, I took you for the guileless little thing You looked, and then rushed in and slipped! You led me on ; I had my own sweet way I never heard you once protest, By either word or look or gesture nay, You always said that I knew best. And when I'd parted with my lone, last red, You gently broke the witching spell I do not now recall just what you said I only know I felt like well, It matters not. I looked for trouble, and I'm not the first fond, foolish ass That has been neatly and completely canned, And so we'll simply let it pass. But, say, think not that I'm a madman quite, Whose heart with bitterness is wrung, To shamelessly admit in black and white The prideless fact that I've been stung. 60 "Lay not that flattering unction to your soul. The plain, unvarnished truth is this: My aching void some coffee and a roll Would fill much better than your kiss! Ah, no ! I mean to sell this story of my woe, For ten, a five-spot or a two, And so get back a portion of the dough I foolishly blew in on you. 61 A Merely Mexican Madrigal OH, the fair Donna Chloe, From her pa-la-ci-o, Called down to Don Pedro, who wooed her below: "Sing a sweet serenade Of the vows you have made, Or ne'er will you win my affection, Pedro." So all the night long Pedro warbled a song That told of his love and his passion so strong Singing out in the rain, In an unsheltered plain, Till all of his vocal machinery went wrong. And she listened in bliss To something like this: "O lady so fairo, Here, in the chill airo t I sing! Do give ear, I implore you! Though due at the fronto, I'm pulling this stunt o f As evidence that I adore you! O listen, I prayo, Please turn not awayo, I'd sing though I froze to the bone! If my voice is falsetto, f Tis 'cause I am