 | Uncollected Poems of James Russell Lowell |  |
SCENE IX
Enter WaiterW.
Here's your one fish-ball, sir— (sarcastically)
you ordered one?
S.
Thanks,—and with bread to match, 'twere not ill done.
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W.
(with fury).
With one single fish-ball, is't bread ye are after?
So wild a presumption provokes me to laughter!
So mad a suggestion proves, out of all question,
Howe'er you the test shun, you're mad as a hornet!
I trample it, scorn it, so mad a suggestion!
It fills me with fury, it dumbs me with rage!
S.
With one dainty fish-ball do you bread refuse me?
It's you are the madman yourself, sir, excuse me!
My wish was immodest? Of men you're the oddest!
In strait-waistcoat bodiced, go hide ye in Bedlam!
Your fish-balls, there, peddle 'em! learn to be modest,
And tempt not a stranger half-starving to rage!
Chorus.
O'er one paltry fish-ball d'ye make such a rumpus?
For gracious' sake, neighbors, we'd rather you'd thump us!
You make such a flare-up, such riot and rear-up,
Our comfort you tear up to rags and to tatters,
Come, settle your matters without such a flare-up,
Or soon you shall suffer a proof of our rage!
| Uncollected Poems of James Russell Lowell | |