The Book of Humorous Verse - LightNovelsOnl.com
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SONG
Echo, tell me, while I wander O'er this fairy plain to prove him, If my shepherd still grows fonder, Ought I in return to love him?
Echo: Love him, love him!
If he loves, as is the fas.h.i.+on, Should I churlishly forsake him?
Or in pity to his pa.s.sion, Fondly to my bosom take him?
Echo: Take him, take him!
Thy advice then, I'll adhere to, Since in Cupid's chains I've led him; And with Henry shall not fear to Marry, if you answer, "Wed him!"
Echo: Wed him, wed him!
_Joseph Addison._
A GENTLE ECHO ON WOMAN
IN THE DORIC MANNER
_Shepherd._ Echo, I ween, will in the woods reply, And quaintly answer questions: shall I try?
_Echo._ Try.
_Shepherd._ What must we do our pa.s.sion to express?
_Echo._ Press.
_Shepherd._ How shall I please her, who ne'er loved before?
_Echo._ Before.
_Shepherd._ What most moves women when we them address?
_Echo._ A dress.
_Shepherd._ Say, what can keep her chaste whom I adore?
_Echo._ A door.
_Shepherd._ If music softens rocks, love tunes my lyre.
_Echo._ Liar.
_Shepherd._ Then teach me, Echo, how shall I come by her?
_Echo._ Buy her.
_Shepherd._ When bought, no question I shall be her dear?
_Echo._ Her deer.
_Shepherd._ But deer have horns: how must I keep her under?
_Echo._ Keep her under.
_Shepherd._ But what can glad me when she's laid on bier?
_Echo._ Beer.
_Shepherd._ What must I do so women will be kind?
_Echo._ Be kind.
_Shepherd._ What must I do when women will be cross?
_Echo._ Be cross.
_Shepherd._ Lord, what is she that can so turn and wind?
_Echo._ Wind.
_Shepherd._ If she be wind, what stills her when she blows?
_Echo._ Blows.
_Shepherd._ But if she bang again, still should I bang her?
_Echo._ Bang her.
_Shepherd._ Is there no way to moderate her anger?
_Echo._ Hang her.
_Shepherd._ Thanks, gentle Echo! right thy answers tell What woman is and how to guard her well.
_Echo._ Guard her well.
_Dean Swift._
LAY OF ANCIENT ROME
Oh, the Roman was a rogue, He erat was, you bettum; He ran his automobilus And smoked his cigarettum.
He wore a diamond studibus And elegant cravattum, A maxima c.u.m laude s.h.i.+rt And such a stylish hattum!
He loved the luscious hic-haec-hoc, And bet on games and equi; At times he won at others though, He got it in the nequi; He winked, (quo usque tandem?) at Puellas on the Forum, And sometimes, too, he even made Those goo-goo oculorum!
He frequently was seen At combats gladiatorial And ate enough to feed Ten boarders at Memorial; He often went on sprees And said, on starting homus, "Hic labour--opus est, Oh, where's my hic--hic--domus?"
Although he lived in Rome,-- Of all the arts the middle-- He was, (excuse the phrase,) A horrid individ'l; Ah, what a different thing Was the h.o.m.o (dative, hominy) Of far away B. C.
From us of Anno Domini.
_Thomas R. Ybarra._
A NEW SONG
OF NEW SIMILES
My pa.s.sion is as mustard strong; I sit all sober sad; Drunk as a piper all day long, Or like a March-hare mad.
Round as a hoop the b.u.mpers flow; I drink, yet can't forget her; For though as drunk as David's sow I love her still the better.
Pert as a pear-monger I'd be, If Molly were but kind; Cool as a cuc.u.mber could see The rest of womankind.
Like a stuck pig I gaping stare, And eye her o'er and o'er; Lean as a rake, with sighs and care, Sleek as a mouse before.
Plump as a partridge was I known, And soft as silk my skin; My cheeks as fat as b.u.t.ter grown, But as a goat now thin!
