Ruthless Rhymes for Heartless Homes

Dedicated to P. P

("Qui connait son sourire a connu le parfait.")

 
I   NEED no Comments of the Press,
No critic's cursory caress,
No paragraphs my book to bless
With praise, or ban with curses,
So long as You, for whom I write,
Whose single notice I invite,
Are still sufficiently polite
To smile upon my verses.
 
 
If You should seek for Ruthless Rhymes
(In memory of Western climes),
And, for the sake of olden times,
Obtain this new edition,
You must not be surprised a bit,
Nor even deem the act unfit,
That I have dedicated it
To You, without permission.
 

P. T. O.¹

 
And if You chance to ask me why,
It is sufficient, I reply,
That You are You, and I am I, —
To put the matter briefly.
That I should dedicate to You
Can only interest us two;
The fact remains, then, that I do,
Because I want to – chiefly.
 
 
And if these verses can beguile
From those grey eyes of yours a smile,
You will have made it well worth while
To seek your approbation;
No further meed
Of praise they need,
But must succeed,
And do indeed,
If they but lead
You on to read
Beyond the Dedication.
 

1901.

H. G.

Author's Preface

 
WITH guilty, conscience-stricken tears
I offer up these rhymes of mine
To children of maturer years
(From Seventeen to Ninety-nine).
A special solace may they be
In days of second infancy.
 
 
The frenzied mother who observes
This volume in her offspring's hand,
And trembles for the darling's nerves,
Must please to clearly understand,
If baby suffers by-and-bye
The Artist is to blame, not I!
 
 
But should the little brat survive,
And fatten on the Ruthless Rhyme,
To raise a Heartless Home and thrive
Through a successful life of crime,
The Artist hopes that you will see
That I am to be thanked, not he!
 

P. T. O.²

 
Fond parent, you whose children are
Of tender age (from two to eight),
Pray keep this little volume far
From reach of such, and relegate
My verses to an upper shelf, —
Where you may study them yourself.
 

Uncle Joe

 
AN Angel bore dear Uncle Joe
To rest beyond the stars.
I miss him, oh! I miss him so, —
He had such good cigars.
 

Impetuous Samuel

 
SAM had spirits naught could check,
And to-day, at breakfast, he
Broke his baby sister's neck,
So he shan't have jam for tea!
 

Inconsiderate Hannah

 
NAUGHTY little Hannah said
She could make her grandma whistle,
So, that night, inside her bed
Placed some nettles and a thistle.
 
 
Though dear grandma quite infirm is,
Heartless Hannah watched her settle,
With her poor old epidermis
Resting up against a nettle.
 
 
Suddenly she reached the thistle!
My! you should have heard her whistle!
 

…

 
A successful plan was Hannah's,
But I cannot praise her manners.