 | A little book of tribune verse |  |
92
DISCONTENT.
A printer man in sotto tone,Did once his bitter fate bemoan;
“How does it always happen that
My ‘takes’ are ‘solid’ and not fat?”
I could not bear his piteous look,
And so I hung upon the “hook”
A “leaded take” which, with a leer,
He grasped, while these words reached my ear:
“Yes, just my luck, there'll never be
No double leaded takes for me!”
Then that I might for just once make
His soul content, a rousing take
Of double-leaded nonpareil
Upon that hook I hung. Ah, well,
He still was sad and muttered low,
“I s'pose 't'll allus be just so,
Why don't they mark in some fat thing,
Like slugs, to swell a fellow's string?”
That printer man will sigh no more,
He lies a corpse upon the floor!
March 29th, 1882.
| A little book of tribune verse | |