|
SIZE AND TEARS
WHEN on the sandy shore I sit,
Beside the salt sea-wave,
And fall into a weeping fit
Because I dare not shave -
A little whisper at my ear
Enquires the reason of my fear. I answer "If that ruffian Jones
Should recognise me here,
He`d bellow out my name in tones
Offensive to the ear:
He chaffs me so on being stout
(A thing that always puts me out)." Ah me! I see him on the cliff!
Farewell, farewell to hope,
If he should look this way, and if
He`s got his telescope!
To whatsoever place I flee,
My odious rival follows me! For every night, and everywhere,
I meet him out at dinner;
And when I`ve found some charming fair,
And vowed to die or win her,
The wretch (he`s thin and I am stout)
Is sure to come and cut me out! The girls (just like them!) all agree
To praise J. Jones, Esquire:
I ask them what on earth they see
About him to admire?
They cry "He is so sleek and slim,
It`s quite a treat to look at him!" They vanish in tobacco smoke,
Those visionary maids -
I feel a sharp and sudden poke
Between the shoulder-blades -
"Why, Brown, my boy! Your growing stout!"
(I told you he would find me out!) "My growth is not YOUR business, Sir!"
"No more it is, my boy!
But if it`s YOURS, as I infer,
Why, Brown, I give you joy!
A man, whose business prospers so,
Is just the sort of man to know! "It`s hardly safe, though, talking here -
I`d best get out of reach:
For such a weight as yours, I fear,
Must shortly sink the beach!" -
Insult me thus because I`m stout!
I vow I`ll go and call him out!
|
