A Society Leader - Bierce Ambrose Gwinnett - Страница 1

'The Social World'! O what a world it is Where full-grown men cut capers in the German, Cotillion, waltz, or what you will, and whizz And spin and hop and sprawl about like mermen! I wonder if our future Grant or Sherman, As these youths pass their time, is passing his If eagles ever come from painted eggs, Or deeds of arms succeed to deeds of legs. I know they tell us about Waterloo: How, 'foremost fighting,' fell the evening's dancers. I don't believe it: I regard it true That soldiers who are skillful in 'the Lancers' Less often die of cannon than of cancers. Moreover, I am half-persuaded, too, That David when he danced before the Ark Had the reporter's word to keep it dark. Ed. Greenway, you fatigue. Your hateful name Like maiden's curls, is in the papers daily. You think it, doubtless, honorable fame, And contemplate the cheap distinction gaily, As does the monkey the blue-painted tail he Believes becoming to him. 'Tis the same With men as other monkeys: all their souls Crave eminence on any kind of poles. But cynics (barking tribe!) are all agreed That monkeys upon poles performing capers Are not exalted, they are only 'treed.' A glory that is kindled by the papers Is transient as the phosphorescent vapors That shine in graveyards and are seen, indeed, But while the bodies that supply the gas Are turning into weeds to feed an ass. One can but wonder sometimes how it feels To _be_ an ass-a beast we beat condignly Because, like yours, his life is in his heels And he is prone to use them unbenignly. The ladies (bless them!) say you dance divinely. I like St. Vitus better, though, who deals His feet about him with a grace more just, And hops, not for he will, but for he must. Doubtless it gratifies you to observe Elbowy girls and adipose mamas All looking adoration as you swerve This way and that; but prosperous papas Laugh in their sleeves at you, and their ha-has, If heard, would somewhat agitate your nerve. And dames and maids who keep you on their shelves Don't seem to want a closer tie themselves. Gods! what a life you live!-by day a slave To your exacting back and urgent belly; Intent to earn and vigilant to save By night, attired so sightly and so smelly, With countenance as luminous as jelly, Bobbing and bowing! King of hearts and knave Of diamonds, I'd bet a silver brick If brains were trumps you'd never take a trick.