Comic Miseries. John G. Saxe
My dear young friend, whose shining wit
Sets all the room a-blaze,
Don’t think yourself a “happy dog,”
For all your merry ways;
But learn to wear a sober phiz,
Be stupid, if you can,
It’s such a very serious thing
To be a funny man!
You’re at an evening party, with
A group of pleasant folks,—
You venture quietly to crack
The least of little jokes,—
A lady doesn’t catch the point,
And begs you to explain—
Alas for one that drops a jest
And takes it up again!
You’re talking deep philosophy
With very special force,
To edify a clergyman
With suitable discourse,—
You think you ‘ve got him—when he calls
A friend across the way,
And begs you’ll say that funny thing
You said the other day!
You drop a pretty jeu-de-mot
Into a neighbor’s ears,
Who likes to give you credit for
The clever thing he hears,
And so he hawks your jest about
The old authentic one,
Just breaking off the point of it,
And leaving out the pun!
By sudden change in politics,
Or sadder change in Polly,
You, lose your love, or loaves, and fall
A prey to melancholy,
While every body marvels why
Your mirth is under ban,—
They think your very grief “a joke,”
You’re such a funny man!
You follow up a stylish card
That bids you come and dine,
And bring along your freshest wit
(To pay for musty wine),
You’re looking very dismal, when
My lady bounces in,
And wonders what you’re thinking of
And why you don’t begin!
You’re telling to a knot of friends
A fancy-tale of woes
That cloud your matrimonial sky,
And banish all repose—
A solemn lady overhears
The story of your strife,
And tells the town the pleasant news:
You quarrel with your wife!
My dear young friend, whose shining wit
Sets all the room a-blaze,
Don’t think yourself “a happy dog,”
For all your merry ways;
But learn to wear a sober phiz,
Be stupid, if you can,
It’s such a very serious thing
To be a funny man!
Idees Napoleoniennes. William Aytoun
The impossibility of translating this now well-known expression (imperfectly rendered in a companion-work, “Ideas of Napoleonism”), will excuse the title and burden of the present ballad being left in the original French.—TRANSLATOR.
Come, listen all who wish to learn
How nations should be ruled,
From one who from his youth has been
In such-like matters school’d;
From one who knows the art to please,
Improve and govern men—
Eh bien! Ecoutez, aux Idees,
Napoleoniennes!
To keep the mind intently fixed
On number One alone—
To look to no one’s interest,
But push along your own,
Without the slightest reference
To how, or what, or when—
Eh bien! c’est la premiere Idee
Napoleonienne.
To make a friend, and use him well,
By which, of course, I mean
To use him up—until he’s drain’d
Completely dry and clean
Of all that makes him useful, and
To kick him over then
Without remorse—c’est une Idee
Napoleonienne.
To sneak into a good man’s house
With sham credentials penn’d—
to sneak into his heart and trust,
And seem his children’s friend—
To learn his secrets, find out where
He keeps his keys—and then
To bone his spoons—c’est une Idee
Napoleonienne.
To gain your point in view—to wade
Through dirt, and slime, and blood—
To stoop to pick up what you want
Through any depth of mud.
But always in the fire to thrust
Some helpless cat’s-paw, when
Your chestnuts burn—c’est une Idee
Napoleonienne.
To clutch and keep the lion’s share—
To kill or drive away
The wolves, that you upon the lambs
May, unmolested, prey—
To keep a gang of jackals fierce
To guard and stock your den,
While you lie down—c’est une Idee
Napoleonienne.
To bribe the base, to crush the good,
And bring them to their knees—
To stick at nothing, or to stick
At what or whom you please—
To stoop, to lie, to brag, to swear,
Forswear, and swear again—
To rise—Ah! voia des Idees
Napoleoniennes.