Misrepresentative Men

Has read the whole of it, and knows.)

Such was his kind, unselfish plan,
That he allowed a rude, unshaven,
Ill-educated actor man
To style himself the Bard of Avon;
Altho' 'twas he and not this fellow
Who wrote "The Tempest" and "Othello."

For right throughout his works there is
A cipher hid, which makes it certain
That all Pope's "Iliad" is his,
And the "Anatomy" of Burton;
There's not a volume you can name
To which he has not laid a claim.

He is responsible, I wot,
For Euclid's lucid demonstrations,
The early works of Walter Scott,
And the Aurelian "Meditations";
Also "The House with Seven Gables"
And most of Æsop's (so-called) Fables.

And once, when he annoyed the Queen,
And wished to gain the royal pardon,
He wrote his masterpiece; I mean
That work about her German Garden;
And published, just before his death,
The "Visits of Elizabeth."

Yet peradventure we are wrong,
For just as probable the chance is
That all these volumes may belong
To someone else, and not to Francis.
I think, – tho' I may be mistaken, —
That Shakespeare wrote the works of Bacon.

MORAL

If you approach the Mosque of Fame,
And seek to climb its tallest steeple,
Just lodge a literary claim
Against the works of other people.
And though the Press may not receive it,
A few old ladies will believe it.

For instance, I of proof could bring
Sufficient to convince the layman
That I had written ev'rything
Attributed to Stanley Weyman.
In common justice I should pocket
The royalties of S. R. Crockett.

And anyone can plainly see,
Without the wit of Machiavelli,
That "Hall Caines look alike to me,"
Since I am Ouida and Corelli.
Yes, I am Rudyard Kipling, truly,
And the immortal Mr. Dooley.

Adam

IN History he holds a place
Unique, unparalleled, sublime;
"The First of all the Human Race!"
Yes, that was Adam, all the time.
It didn't matter if he burst,
He simply had to get there first.

A simple Child of Nature he,
Whose life was primitive and rude;
His wants were few, his manners free,
All kinds of clothing he eschewed, —
He might be seen in any weather,
In what is called "the Altogether!"

The luxuries that we enjoy
He never had, so never missed;
Appliances that we employ
For saving work did not exist;
He would have found them useless too,
Not having any work to do.

He never wrote a business note;
He had no creditors to pay;
He was not pestered for his vote,
Not having one to give away;
And, living utterly alone,
He did not need a telephone.

The joys of indolence he knew,
In his remote and peaceful clime,
He did just what he wanted to,
Nor ever said he "hadn't time!"
(And this was natural becos
He had whatever time there was.)

His pulse was strong, his health was good,
He had no fads of meat or drink,
Of tonic waters, Breakfast Food,