This Work is copyrighted just to show To what low depths the Pirate Press will go. They borrow thunder from the Vulcan forge, Then draw the fire and put the smut on George. Each song or verse, it seems to me, should be Distinguished by originality If nothing else (the matter may be sloppy,-- But that's no matter if there's ample copy) So that the Author's face could be unmasked And recognized without a question asked; Or, so identify Calliope By strident notes of high-toned quality; Or thus detect some Poet's "fist" and style By I. O. U.'s unhonored yet awhile. The Pirates thus would cease perforce their trade, And Bacon would not be confused with Ade. In all my songs I do the work myself, And draw no inspiration from the Shelf. Perhaps my lines would be more read, if cribbed, But George and I, you know, have never fibbed, And what is more, I think my lines are sweeter Than those of Dante, with infernal meter; And more heroic, and not half so sad As Homer's couplets in the _Ill_iad; And far more musical and much prettier Than those by Tennyson or by Whittier. Each bar is known to me, its licensee, And ev'ry note has had my scrutiny: I also watch my pauses, moods and tenses, And have no words with fair amanuenses. If you could see my workshop (do not ask it!) You'd find more "carbons" in my paper-basket, More rough, unpolished diamonds there immured Than you, Dear Reader, ever have endured. I have no Jewish blood, not e'en a strain: That's what I lack! If ever born again I'd requisition Hebrew sire and dam, Something akin, methinks, to Abraham, And take these "jewels," doomed unseen to flash, Gloss o'er their flaws, and turn them into cash. Here's where I doff my bonnet to the Jew! Tho' sore oppressed they're still the Chosen Few: A _few_ in numbers but a mighty host When reckoned by the things that count the most,-- I mean _achievements_, won by toilsome stages In spite of persecutions thru the Ages.