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A line-o'-verse or two
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Whatever was the errand on which Doctor Brown was bent
He’d stop to patch a victim up and never charged a cent.
He’d always pause, whoever ’twas he happened to run down:
A humane and a thoughtful man was gentle Doctor Brown.
“How fortunate,” he would observe, “how fortunate ’twas I
That knocked you galley-west and heard your wild and wailing cry.
There are some heartless wretches who would leave you here alone,
Without a sympathetic ear to catch your dying moan.
“Such callousness,” said Doctor Brown, “I cannot comprehend;
To fathom such indifference I simply don’t pretend.
One ought to do his duty, and I never am remiss.
A simple word of thanks is all I ask. Here, swallow this!”
Then, reaching in the tonneau, he’d unpack his little kit,
And perform an operation that was workmanlike and fit.
“You may survive,” said Doctor Brown; “it’s happened once or twice.
If not, you’ve had the benefit of competent advice.”
Oh, if all our motormaniacs were equally humane,
How little bitterness there’d be, or reason to complain!
How different our point of view if we were ridden down
By lunatics as thoughtful as gentle Doctor Brown!
IN THE GALLERY
Weirder than the pictures
Are the folks who come
With their owlish strictures —
Telling why they’re bum.
Of all lines of babble
This one has the call:
Picture gallery gabble
Is the best of all.
Literary fluffle
Never, never cloys;
Much has Mrs. Guffle
Added to my joys.
For that chitter-chatter
I delight to fall.
But the picture patter
Is the best of all.
With the music highbrows
I delight to chat,
Elevating my brows
Over this and that.
Music tittle-tattle
Never fails to thrall.
But the picture prattle
Is the best of all.
Sociologic rub-dub
I delight to hear;
Philosophic flub-dub
Titillates my ear.
Lovelier yet the spiffle
In the picture hall;
For the picture piffle
Is the best of all.
Weirder than the pictures
Are the folks who stand
Passing owlish strictures,
Catalogue in hand.
Hear the bunk they babble
Under every wall.
Yes. The gallery gabble
Is the best of all.
ALWAYS
“Il y a tous les jours quelque dam chose.”
– Abelard to Heloise.
When Mrs. Mead was full of groans,
When symptoms of all sorts assailed her,
She sent for bluff old Doctor Jones,
And told him all the things that ailed her.
It took her nearly half the day,
And when she finished out the string —
“Ye-e-s, Mrs. Mead,” drawled Doctor J.,
“There’s always some dam thing.”
I like the line. It’s worth a ton
Of optimistic commonplaces.
It’s tonic, it refreshes one,
It cheers, it stimulates, it braces.
It summarizes things so well;
It has the philosophic ring.
Has Kant or Hegel more to tell?
“There’s always some dam thing.”
The dean of all the cheer-up school
Adjures sad hearts to cease repining,
And intimates that, as a rule,
Другие электронные книги автора Bert Taylor
Последний отзыв
Это скорее приключение, чем история. Но читать приятно.