A SOCIETY LEADER"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 whizzAnd 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'sdancers.I don't believe it: I regard it trueThat 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 ArkHad the reporter's word to keep it dark.Ed. Greenway, you fatigue. Your hateful nameLike 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 heBelieves becoming to him. 'Tis the sameWith men as other monkeys: all their soulsCrave eminence on any kind of poles.But cynics (barking tribe!) are all agreedThat monkeys upon poles performing capersAre not exalted, they are only "treed."A glory that is kindled by the papersIs transient as the phosphorescent vaporsThat shine in graveyards and are seen, indeed,But while the bodies that supply the gasAre turning into weeds to feed an ass.One can but wonder sometimes how it feelsTobean ass—a beast we beat condignlyBecause, like yours, his life is in his heelsAnd he is prone to use them unbenignly.The ladies (bless them!) say you dance divinely.I like St. Vitus better, though, who dealsHis feet about him with a grace more just,And hops, not for he will, but for he must.Doubtless it gratifies you to observeElbowy girls and adipose mamasAll looking adoration as you swerveThis way and that; but prosperous papasLaugh in their sleeves at you, and their ha-has,If heard, would somewhat agitate your nerve.And dames and maids who keep you on theirshelvesDon't seem to want a closer tie themselves.Gods! what a life you live!—by day a slaveTo 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 knaveOf diamonds, I'd bet a silver brickIf brains were trumps you'd never take a trick.
"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 whizzAnd 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'sdancers.I don't believe it: I regard it trueThat 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 ArkHad the reporter's word to keep it dark.Ed. Greenway, you fatigue. Your hateful nameLike 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 heBelieves becoming to him. 'Tis the sameWith men as other monkeys: all their soulsCrave eminence on any kind of poles.But cynics (barking tribe!) are all agreedThat monkeys upon poles performing capersAre not exalted, they are only "treed."A glory that is kindled by the papersIs transient as the phosphorescent vaporsThat shine in graveyards and are seen, indeed,But while the bodies that supply the gasAre turning into weeds to feed an ass.One can but wonder sometimes how it feelsTobean ass—a beast we beat condignlyBecause, like yours, his life is in his heelsAnd he is prone to use them unbenignly.The ladies (bless them!) say you dance divinely.I like St. Vitus better, though, who dealsHis feet about him with a grace more just,And hops, not for he will, but for he must.Doubtless it gratifies you to observeElbowy girls and adipose mamasAll looking adoration as you swerveThis way and that; but prosperous papasLaugh in their sleeves at you, and their ha-has,If heard, would somewhat agitate your nerve.And dames and maids who keep you on theirshelvesDon't seem to want a closer tie themselves.Gods! what a life you live!—by day a slaveTo 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 knaveOf diamonds, I'd bet a silver brickIf brains were trumps you'd never take a trick.