Parodies of the works of English & American authors, vol. IV

Parodies

I placed it (that summer noontide)
        In the pocket which lay on my breast,
      But when I went out for my luncheon
        I had on a different vest.

      I gave it a boy, with a copper,
        And he twirl’d it o’er and o’er,
      But his fingers were faint and weary
        And it fluttered to earth once more.

      And I cried, midst my passionate swearing,
        “Have I got no bosom friend
      Who will kindly deliver the message,
        That I am so anxious to send?”

      Then I heard a strain of music,
        And I wondered all cats weren’t dead,
      But I found ’twas the wind that was passing
        Through the telephone wires overhead.

      It rose in harmonious rushings
        Like a fiddle-bow over the strings,
      And I thought I would send my message,
        By one of those new-fangled things.

      And I heard it float farther and farther,
        In sound it resembled my speech,
      Farther than I could travel,
        Farther than eye could reach.

      And I knew that at last my message
        Had been telephoned down to my wife,
      And my mind was no longer uneasy
        For I knew she’d expect us at five.

  _Funny Folks._ October 19, 1878.

                     ――――

      I had a message to give her,
        But she too early had fled;
      I thought of it since we parted,
        And she had gone home to bed
      To rest in the highest attic,
        Far up near the starry sky:
      And she never could hear me calling――
        Her window was much too high.

      I had a message to give her
        (A line which I here repeat),
      But I thought it would not be proper
        To shout it from out the street;
      So I tried to attract attention
        By flinging aloft a stone,
      But I only broke a window,
        And left her――in haste――alone.

      I gave it to “milk” next morning,
        And I watched if she took it in.
      But ’twas somebody else who did it
        (I’d to stand the “milk” some gin).
      And I cried in my passionate longing,
        “Oh! is there no other way
      I can get to my love the message,
        And say what I have to say?”

      Then I heard a sweet voice singing
        Up high in the morning air;
      She was cleaning the first-floor windows,
        And I beckoned her down the stair.
      And she came to the front door quickly――
        For her mistress was not yet up――
      And she said I must come that ev’ning
        (For the cook was going out) to sup.

      So I hastened home to my breakfast
        (I had coffee and salted fish),
      And went to my work as happy
        As lover who’s got his wish;
      For I knew I should give my message――
        And I felt it was not too late――
      I should meet her that night at supper,
        So I was content to wait.

  _Fun._ October 17, 1883.

                            ――――:o:――――

               “OH! DON’T YOU REMEMBER SWEET ALICE?”

Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.

Parodies of the works of English & American authors, vol. IV

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