Wise William Goat, familiarly addressed
As “Billy!” Thou art an amusin’ brute,
For thou hast some traits that are truly cute
And others, still, so it must be confessed,
That I hast learned in sorrow to detest.
’Tis fun to see thee, in thy manner mute,
When boys dost tease thee, give some one a “beaut,”
Yet, he who’s “it” deems thee a sorry jest.
Yestreen I met some other boys, and we,
At thy expense, wert havin’ much delight
Till thou got’st ’round to where I didst not see
That thou wast headed my way. Sorry plight!
That’s why I write this standin’ – woe is me! —
And slept’st upon my bosom all last night.
O Adam and O Eve! How very nice
It must have been to live where you wast at.
No neighbors anywhere with whom to spat,
Nor any one to give you free advice.
Ma says she’d gladly pay ’most any price
For such a lay-out. And she’s certain that
Because there wert no servants in your flat
Is how you camest to call it “Paradise.”
And pa says that if Eve hadst dressed the way
Our women do we shouldst have missed the fate
Of goin’ forth into the world to stray,
For she’d be somewhere, still, inside the gate
Delayin’ things, as women dost to-day,
A-tryin’ for to pin her hat on straight.
O Washington! (O Reader, hast thou not
In readin’ high-toned poems wrote for show,
Observed how many of them start with “O?”
Well, anyhow, there is an awful lot.)
The noble deeds thou wrought’st are not forgot
But serve to make thy name, where’er we go,
A household word. If all they say is so
Thou didst some mighty clever stunts. That’s what!
And yet, thy fame belongest to thy dad;
Thou shinest by reflected light, forsooth,
For thou ’rt the only boy that ever had
A pa who, when his son dared tell the truth
About some kiddish prank didst not get mad
And lamm him! O thou heaven-protected youth!
When sister Maymie saidst she’d like to learn
To sweep the keys of a piano-forte,
Ma she spoke up and cut her right off short
And saidst she’d rather that a girl of her ’n
Shouldst know just how to sweep a room, nor spurn
A poor but honest man, for that’s the sort
Pa wast. And ma insists no woman ort
To spend more money than a man canst earn.
A kid-gloved dandy with a stove-pipe hat
Wed ma’s proud cousin. Say, but he wast sly!
“Our home shalt be next thing to Heaven!” That
Wast what he vowed. Ma says that that’s no lie
For they art packed into a stingy flat
Four stairways up, and plumb against the sky!