Misrepresentative Men

He adds the charms of Carrie Nation.

In him we see a devotee
Of what is called the "simpler life"
(To tell the naked Truth, and be
Contented with a single wife).
Luxurious living he abhors,
And takes his pleasures out of doors.

And, since his sole delight and pride
Are exercise and open air,
His spirit chafes at being tied
All day to an official chair;
The bell-boys (in the room beneath)
Can hear him gnash his serried teeth.

In summertime he can't resist
A country gallop on his cob,
So, like a thorough altruist,
He lets another do his job;
In winter he will work all day,
But when the sun shines he makes Hay.

And thus, in spite of office ties,
He manages to take a lot
Of healthy outdoor exercise,
Where other Presidents have not;
As I can prove by drawing your
Attention to his carte du jour.

At 6 a.m. he shoots a bear,
At 8 he schools a restive horse,
From 10 to 4 he takes the air, —
(He doesn't take it all, of course);
And then at 5 o'clock, maybe,
Some colored man drops in to tea.

At intervals throughout the day
He sprints around the house, or if
His residence is Oyster Bay,
He races up and down the cliff;
While seagulls scream about his legs,
Or hasten home to hide their eggs.

A man of deeds, not words, is he,
Who never stooped to roll a log;
Agile as fond gazelle or flea,
Sagacious as an indoor dog;
In him we find a spacious mind,
"Uncribb'd, uncabin'd, unconfin'd."

In martial exploits he delights,
And has no fear of War's alarms;
The hero of a hundred fights,
Since first he was a child (in arms);
Like battle-horse, when bugles bray,
He champs his bit and tries to neigh.

And if the Army of the State
Is always in such perfect trim,
Well-organized and up to date,
This grand result is due to him;
For while his country reaped the fruit,
'Twas he alone could reach the Root.

And spite of jeers that foes have hurled,
No problems can his soul perplex;
He lectures women of the world
Upon the duties of their sex,
And with unfailing courage thrusts
His spoke within the wheels of trusts.

No private ends has he to serve,
No dirty linen needs to wash;
A man of quite colossal nerve,
Who lives sans peur et sans reproche;
In modo suaviter maybe,
But then how fortiter in re!

A lion is his crest, you know,
Columbia stooping to caress it,
With vi et armis writ below,
Nemo impune me lacessit;
His motto, as you've read already,
Semper paratus– always Teddy!

Bacon

IN far Elizabethan days
(Ho! By my Halidome! Gadzooks!)
Lord Bacon wrote his own essays,
And lots of other people's books;
Annexing as a pseudonym
Each author's name that suited him.

All notoriety he'd shirk,
Nor sought for literary credit,
Although the best of Shakespeare's work
Was his. (For Mrs. Gallup said it,
And she, poor lady, I suppose,