Still Fate, with many a sorrow rife, Maintained relentless fight: His grandmamma next lost her life, Then died the mother of his wife, But still he seemed all right. His brother fond (the only link To life that bound him now) One morning, overcome by drink, He broke his leg (the right, I think) In some disgraceful row. But did my BERNARD swear and curse? Oh no--to murmur loth, He only said, "Go, get a nurse: Be thankful that it isn't worse; You might have broken both!" But worms who watch without concern The cockchafer on thorns, Or beetles smashed, themselves will turn If, walking through the slippery fern, You tread upon their corns. One night as BERNARD made his track Through Brompton home to bed, A footpad, with a vizor black, Took watch and purse, and dealt a crack On BERNARD'S saint-like head. It was too much--his spirit rose, He looked extremely cross. Men thought him steeled to mortal foes, But no--he bowed to countless blows, But kicked against this loss. He finally made up his mind Upon his friends to call; Subscription lists were largely signed, For men were really glad to find Him mortal, after all! [Illustration] [Illustration] THE HUMANE MIKADO A more humane Mikado never Did in Japan exist; To nobody second, I'm certainly reckoned A true philanthropist. It is my very humane endeavour To make, to some extent, Each evil liver A running river Of harmless merriment. My object all sublime I shall achieve in time-- To let the punishment fit the crime-- The punishment fit the crime: And make each prisoner pent Unwillingly represent A source of innocent merriment-- Of innocent merriment! All prosy dull society sinners, Who chatter and bleat and bore, Are sent to hear sermons From mystical Germans Who preach from ten to four: The amateur tenor, whose vocal villainies All desire to shirk, Shall, during off-hours, Exhibit his powers To Madame Tussaud's waxwork: The lady who dyes a chemical yellow, Or stains her grey hair puce, Or pinches her figger, Is painted with vigour And permanent walnut juice: The idiot who, in railway carriages, Scribbles on window panes, We only suffer To ride on a buffer In Parliamentary trains. My object all sublime I shall achieve in time-- To let the punishment fit the crime-- The punishment fit the crime; And make each prisoner pent Unwillingly represent A source of innocent merriment-- Of innocent merriment!