Produced by K. Nordquist, Jacqueline Jeremy and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) [Illustration: The Rubaiyat of Ohow Dryyam] Illustrated by Benj. Franklin [not of Philadelphia] _Copyrighted_ 1922 _by_ LEEDON PUBLISHING COMPANY LEEDON PUBLISHING COMPANY 405 FLOOD BUILDING SAN FRANCISCO THE RUBAIYAT OF OHOW DRYYAM By J. L. DUFF _With Apologies to_ OMAR [Illustration] _Illustrated by_ BENJAMIN FRANKLIN [_Not of Philadelphia_] _The Rubaiyat of Ohow Dryyam_ I Wail! for the Law has scattered into flight Those Drinks that were our sometime dear Delight; And still the Morals-tinkers plot and plan New, sterner, stricter Statutes to indite. II After the phantom of our Freedom died Methought a Voice within the Tavern cried: "Drink coffee, Lads, for that is all that's left Since our Land of the Free is washed--and dried." [Illustration: _And still the Morals-tinkers plot and plan New, sterner, stricter Statutes to indite._] III The Haigs indeed are gone, and on the Nose That bourgeoned once with color of the rose A deathly Pallor sits, while down the lane Where once strode Johnny Walker--Water goes. IV Come, fill the Cup, and in the Coffee-house We'll learn a new and temperate Carouse-- The Bird of Time flies with a steadier wing But roosts with sleepless Eye--a Coffee Souse! V Each morn a thousand Recipes, you say-- Yes, but where match the beer of Yesterday? And those Spring Months that used to bring the Bock Seem very long ago and far away. [Illustration: _The Bird of Time flies with a steadier wing But roosts with sleepless Eye--a Coffee Souse!_] VI A Book of Blue Laws underneath the Bough, A pot of Tea, a piece of Toast,--and Thou Beside me sighing in the Wilderness-- Wilderness? It's Desert, Sister, now. VII Some for a Sunday without Taint, and Some Sigh for Inebriate Paradise to come, While Moonshine takes the Cash (no Credit goes) And real old Stuff demands a Premium. [Illustration: _A Book of Blue Laws underneath the Bough, A pot of Tea, a piece of Toast,--and Thou ..._] VIII The Scanty Stock we set our hearts upon Still dwindles and declines until anon, Like Snow upon the Desert's dusty Face, It lights us for an hour and then--is gone. IX Ah, my Beloved, fill the Cup that clears TODAY of past Regrets and future Fears-- Tomorrow!--Why, Tomorrow I may be In Canada or Scotland or Algiers! X Yes, make the most of what we still may spend; The last Drop's lingering Taste may yet transcend Anticipation's Bliss--though we are left Sans Wine, Sans Song, Sans Singer, and--Sans End.