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A Satire Anthology
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Год написания книги
2017
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The Philadelphia Pedigree,
The Boston Mind of azure hue,
Or the Soulful Soul from Kalamazoo;
For all loved Art in a seemly way.
With an earnest soul and a capital A.
…
Long they worshipped; but no one broke
The sacred stillness, until up spoke
The Western one from the nameless place,
Who, blushing, said, “What a lovely vace!”
Over three faces a sad smile flew,
And they edged away from Kalamazoo.
But Gotham’s haughty soul was stirred
To crush the stranger with one small word;
Deftly hiding reproof in praise,
She cries, “’Tis, indeed, a lovely vaze!”
But brief her unworthy triumph, when
The lofty one from the home of Penn,
With the consciousness of two grandpapas,
Exclaims, “It is quite a lovely vahs!”
And glances round with an anxious thrill,
Awaiting the word of Beacon Hill.
But the Boston maid smiles courteouslee,
And gently murmurs, “Oh, pardon me!
“I did not catch your remark, because
I was so entranced with that charming vaws!”
Dies erit prægelida
Sinistra quum Bostonia.
James Jeffrey Roche.
THURSDAY
THE sun was setting, and vespers done;
From chapel the monks came one by one,
And down they went thro’ the garden trim,
In cassock and cowl, to the river’s brim.
Ev’ry brother his rod he took;
Ev’ry rod had a line and a hook;
Ev’ry hook had a bait so fine,
And thus they sang in the even shine:
“Oh, to-morrow will be Friday, so we’ll fish the stream to-day!
Oh, to-morrow will be Friday, so we’ll fish the stream to-day!
Benedicite!”
So down they sate by the river’s brim,
And fish’d till the light was growing dim;
They fish’d the stream till the moon was high,
But never a fish came wand’ring by.
They fish’d the stream in the bright moonshine,
But not one fish would he come to dine.
And the Abbot said, “It seems to me
These rascally fish are all gone to sea.
And to-morrow will be Friday, but we’ve caught no fish to-day;
Oh, to-morrow will be Friday, but we’ve caught no fish to-day!
Maledicite!”
So back they went to the convent gate,
Abbot and monks disconsolate;
For they thought of the morrow with faces white,
Saying, “Oh, we must curb our appetite!
But down in the depths of the vault below
There’s Malvoisie for a world of woe!”
So they quaff their wine, and all declare
That fish, after all, is but gruesome fare.
“Oh, to-morrow will be Friday, so we’ll warm our souls to-day!
Oh, to-morrow will be Friday, so we’ll warm our souls to-day!
Benedicite!”
Frederick Edward Weatherly.
A BIRD IN THE HAND
THERE were three young maids of Lee;
They were fair as fair can be,
And they had lovers three times three,
For they were fair as fair can be,
These three young maids of Lee.
But these young maids they cannot find
A lover each to suit her mind;
The plain-spoke lad is far too rough,
The rich young lord is not rich enough,
The one is too poor, and one is too tall,
And one just an inch too short for them all.
“Others pick and choose, and why not we?
We can very well wait,” said the maids of Lee.
The Boston Mind of azure hue,
Or the Soulful Soul from Kalamazoo;
For all loved Art in a seemly way.
With an earnest soul and a capital A.
…
Long they worshipped; but no one broke
The sacred stillness, until up spoke
The Western one from the nameless place,
Who, blushing, said, “What a lovely vace!”
Over three faces a sad smile flew,
And they edged away from Kalamazoo.
But Gotham’s haughty soul was stirred
To crush the stranger with one small word;
Deftly hiding reproof in praise,
She cries, “’Tis, indeed, a lovely vaze!”
But brief her unworthy triumph, when
The lofty one from the home of Penn,
With the consciousness of two grandpapas,
Exclaims, “It is quite a lovely vahs!”
And glances round with an anxious thrill,
Awaiting the word of Beacon Hill.
But the Boston maid smiles courteouslee,
And gently murmurs, “Oh, pardon me!
“I did not catch your remark, because
I was so entranced with that charming vaws!”
Dies erit prægelida
Sinistra quum Bostonia.
James Jeffrey Roche.
THURSDAY
THE sun was setting, and vespers done;
From chapel the monks came one by one,
And down they went thro’ the garden trim,
In cassock and cowl, to the river’s brim.
Ev’ry brother his rod he took;
Ev’ry rod had a line and a hook;
Ev’ry hook had a bait so fine,
And thus they sang in the even shine:
“Oh, to-morrow will be Friday, so we’ll fish the stream to-day!
Oh, to-morrow will be Friday, so we’ll fish the stream to-day!
Benedicite!”
So down they sate by the river’s brim,
And fish’d till the light was growing dim;
They fish’d the stream till the moon was high,
But never a fish came wand’ring by.
They fish’d the stream in the bright moonshine,
But not one fish would he come to dine.
And the Abbot said, “It seems to me
These rascally fish are all gone to sea.
And to-morrow will be Friday, but we’ve caught no fish to-day;
Oh, to-morrow will be Friday, but we’ve caught no fish to-day!
Maledicite!”
So back they went to the convent gate,
Abbot and monks disconsolate;
For they thought of the morrow with faces white,
Saying, “Oh, we must curb our appetite!
But down in the depths of the vault below
There’s Malvoisie for a world of woe!”
So they quaff their wine, and all declare
That fish, after all, is but gruesome fare.
“Oh, to-morrow will be Friday, so we’ll warm our souls to-day!
Oh, to-morrow will be Friday, so we’ll warm our souls to-day!
Benedicite!”
Frederick Edward Weatherly.
A BIRD IN THE HAND
THERE were three young maids of Lee;
They were fair as fair can be,
And they had lovers three times three,
For they were fair as fair can be,
These three young maids of Lee.
But these young maids they cannot find
A lover each to suit her mind;
The plain-spoke lad is far too rough,
The rich young lord is not rich enough,
The one is too poor, and one is too tall,
And one just an inch too short for them all.
“Others pick and choose, and why not we?
We can very well wait,” said the maids of Lee.
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