So Jacob's Sons became, as was their bent, The mighty Merchants of the Orient. No goose that ever layed a golden egg Would needs have come to one of them to beg For life or respite. "Nay! Lay on, Good Goose! We'll shield thee and thy gander from abuse!" Long-headed and kind-hearted, in such cases Their noses were not lopped to spite their faces. Too wise they were: they had too good a teacher To make the nose too prominent a feature! While yet the goose was itching for the nest They egged her on and Quack! she did the rest. A goose she would appear to give so much To those who had--but Life is ever such. But Jacob's Sons like Isaac, sturdy Oak, Made no complaint but bore their golden yolk, And, thrifty men, in many baskets stored The golden ovals and increased their hoard. And so their nests were feathered, as we know, But cautious men they were, who didn't crow. And so we see them on the filmy screens, Matching their talents 'gainst the Philistines: And looking close, we notice that the Brothers Have bigger _stacks_ before them than the others. And then there's Job, the Paradox, who toils To show good humor when beset by boils; And Jinxy Jonah, ducked and rudely whaled, Because he had no passport when he sailed. (Whene'er I see the Ocean Mammal spout Methinks it's habit--_spewing Jonah out_.) Delilah's "next"! Tonsorial Adept-- A cutting up while headstrong Samson slept. Shear nonsense--that man's vigor could be sapped Because he had a haircut when he napped, Or lose his nerve, e'en at the yawning grave, Tho' just escaping by the closest shave. With Samson's case a multitude compare, For men miss greatness ofttimes by a hair. 'Twas his conceit that made him lose his nerve, As long-haired, whiskered men, bereft, deserve. The facts are these: that Samson used to wear A wig with ringlets, 'cause his head was bare. One night, in playful mood, Delilah stole Up to his cot and touched the poor old soul For his toupee. He woke, chagrined, and fled Because his capillary roots were dead. What transformation! Thus the Man of Might Became a pussyfooter overnight, And went to writing verses from that minute Finding his strength, not _on_ his head, but in it.