| I I have a bookcase, which is what Many much better men have not. There are no books inside, for books, I am afraid, might spoil its looks. But I've three busts, all second-hand, Upon the top. You understand I could not put them underneath— Shake, Mulleary and Go-ethe. II Shake was a dramatist of note; He lived by writing things to quote, He long ago put on his shroud: Some of his works are rather loud. His bald-spot's dusty, I suppose. I know there's dust upon his nose. I'll have to give each nose a sheath— Shake, Mulleary and Go-ethe. III Mulleary's line was quite the same; He has more hair, but far less fame. I would not from that fame retrench— But he is foreign, being French. Yet high his haughty head he heaves, The only one done up in leaves, They're rather limited on wreath— Shake, Mulleary and Go-ethe. IV Go-ethe wrote in the German tongue: He must have learned it very young. His nose is quite a butt for scoff, Although an inch of it is off. He did quite nicely for the Dutch; But here he doesn't count for much. They all are off their native heath— Shake, Mulleary and Go-ethe. V They sit there, on their chests, as bland As if they were not second-hand. I do not know of what they think, Nor why they never frown or wink, But why from smiling they refrain I think I clearly can explain: They none of them could show much teeth— Shake, Mulleary and Go-ethe. H. C. Bunner. |
