 | The collected works of Ambrose Bierce |  |
THE PUN
Hail, peerless Pun! thou last and best,
Most rare and excellent bequest
Of dying idiot to the wit
He died of, rat-like, in a pit!
Most rare and excellent bequest
Of dying idiot to the wit
He died of, rat-like, in a pit!
Thyself disguised, in many a way,
Thou let'st thy sudden splendor play,
Adorning all where'er it turns,
As the revealing bull's-eye burns
For the dim thief, and plays its trick
Upon the lock he means to pick.
Thou let'st thy sudden splendor play,
Adorning all where'er it turns,
As the revealing bull's-eye burns
For the dim thief, and plays its trick
Upon the lock he means to pick.
229
Yet sometimes, too, thou dost appear
As boldly as a brigadier
Tricked out with marks and signs all o'er
Of rank, brigade, division, corps,
To show by every means he can
An officer is not a man;
Or naked, with a lordly swagger,
Proud as a cur without a wagger,
Who says: “See simple worth prevail—
All dog, sir—not a bit of tail!”
'Tis then men give thee loudest welcome,
As if thou wert a soul from Hell come.
As boldly as a brigadier
Tricked out with marks and signs all o'er
Of rank, brigade, division, corps,
To show by every means he can
An officer is not a man;
Or naked, with a lordly swagger,
Proud as a cur without a wagger,
Who says: “See simple worth prevail—
All dog, sir—not a bit of tail!”
'Tis then men give thee loudest welcome,
As if thou wert a soul from Hell come.
O obvious Pun! thou hast the grace
Of skeleton clock without a case—
With its whole boweling displayed,
And all its organs on parade.
Of skeleton clock without a case—
With its whole boweling displayed,
And all its organs on parade.
Dear Pun, thou'rt common ground of bliss,
Where Punch and I can meet and kiss;
Than thee my wit can stoop no lower—
No higher his does ever soar.
Where Punch and I can meet and kiss;
Than thee my wit can stoop no lower—
No higher his does ever soar.
| The collected works of Ambrose Bierce | |