Ruthless Rhymes for Heartless Homes

Graham Harry

Ruthless Rhymes for Heartless Homes

Dedicated to P. P

("Qui connait son sourire a connu le parfait.")I   NEED no Comments of the Press,No critic's cursory caress,No paragraphs my book to blessWith praise, or ban with curses,So long as You, for whom I write,Whose single notice I invite,Are still sufficiently politeTo smile upon my verses.If You should seek for Ruthless Rhymes(In memory of Western climes),And, for the sake of olden times,Obtain this new edition,You must not be surprised a bit,Nor even deem the act unfit,That I have dedicated itTo You, without permission.P. T. O.1And if You chance to ask me why,It is sufficient, I reply,That You are You, and I am I, —To put the matter briefly.That I should dedicate to YouCan only interest us two;The fact remains, then, that I do,Because I want to – chiefly.And if these verses can beguileFrom those grey eyes of yours a smile,You will have made it well worth whileTo seek your approbation;No further meedOf praise they need,But must succeed,And do indeed,If they but leadYou on to readBeyond the Dedication.1901.H. G.

Author's Preface

WITH guilty, conscience-stricken tearsI offer up these rhymes of mineTo children of maturer years(From Seventeen to Ninety-nine).A special solace may they beIn days of second infancy.The frenzied mother who observesThis volume in her offspring's hand,And trembles for the darling's nerves,Must please to clearly understand,If baby suffers by-and-byeThe Artist is to blame, not I!But should the little brat survive,And fatten on the Ruthless Rhyme,To raise a Heartless Home and thriveThrough a successful life of crime,The Artist hopes that you will seeThat I am to be thanked, not he!P. T. O.2Fond parent, you whose children areOf tender age (from two to eight),Pray keep this little volume farFrom reach of such, and relegateMy verses to an upper shelf, —Where you may study them yourself.

Uncle Joe

AN Angel bore dear Uncle JoeTo rest beyond the stars.I miss him, oh! I miss him so, —He had such good cigars.

Impetuous Samuel

SAM had spirits naught could check,And to-day, at breakfast, heBroke his baby sister's neck,So he shan't have jam for tea!

Inconsiderate Hannah

NAUGHTY little Hannah saidShe could make her grandma whistle,So, that night, inside her bedPlaced some nettles and a thistle.Though dear grandma quite infirm is,Heartless Hannah watched her settle,With her poor old epidermisResting up against a nettle.Suddenly she reached the thistle!My! you should have heard her whistle!…A successful plan was Hannah's,But I cannot praise her manners.

Aunt Eliza

IN the drinking-well(Which the plumber built her)Aunt Eliza fell, —We must buy a filter.

Self-Sacrifice

FATHER, chancing to chastiseHis indignant daughter Sue,Said, "I hope you realizeThat this hurts me more than you."Susan straightway ceased to roar."If that's really true," said she,"I can stand a good deal more;Pray go on, and don't mind me."

La Course Interrompue

IJEAN qui allait a Dijon(Il montait en bicyclette)Rencontra un gros lionQui se faisait la toilette.IIVoila Jean qui tombe a terreEt le lion le digère!…Mon Dieu! Que c'est embêtant!Il me devait quatre francs.

John

JOHN, across the broad Atlantic,Tried to navigate a barque,But he met an unromanticAnd extremely hungry shark.John (I blame his childhood's teachers)Thought to treat this as a lark,Ignorant of how these creaturesDo delight to bite a barque.Said "This animal's a bore!" and,With a scornful sort of grin,Handled an adjacent oar andChucked it underneath the chin.At this unexpected junctureWhich he had not reckoned on,Mr. Shark he made a punctureIn the barque – and then in John.Sad am I, and sore at thinkingJohn had on some clothes of mine;I can almost see them shrinking,Washed repeatedly in brine.I shall never cease regrettingThat I lent my hat to him,For I fear a thorough wettingCannot well improve the brim.Oh! to know a shark is browsing,Boldly, blandly on my boots!Coldly, cruelly carousingOn the choicest of my suits!Creatures I regard with loathingWho can calmly take their fillOf one's Jæger underclothing: —Down, my aching heart, be still!

The Fond Father

OF Baby I was very fond,She'd won her father's heart;So, when she fell into the pond,It gave me quite a start.

Necessity

LATE last night I slew my wife,Stretched her on the parquet flooring;I was loath to take her life,But I had to stop her snoring.

Unselfishness

ALL those who see my children say,"What sweet, what kind, what charming elves!"They are so thoughtful, too, for theyAre always thinking of themselves.It must be ages since I ceasedTo wonder which I liked the least.Such is their generosity,

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1

Transcriber's Note: P.T.O. means please turn over. This is retained in the text although the instruction is not necessary.

2

Transcriber's Note: P.T.O. means please turn over. This is retained in the text although the instruction is not necessary.