An Alphabet of History Part 2

IAGO

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Iago as a villain was a master of his craft, And yet he did not work at all as modern villains do; No one can rise and say that bold Iago hoa.r.s.ely laughed When some one demonstrated that his stories were untrue.

He did not swagger on the stage in evening clothes, and mutter, Nor bite his finger nails in baffled anger now and then; He never turned and left the stage with nothing else to utter Except: "Aha! Proud beauty! I shall not be foiled again!"

Iago did not hover near the old deserted mill To hurl the daring hero in the waters of the race; He never frowned and ground his teeth and burned the hidden will Or kidnapped any children just to complicate the case.

Iago was not like the villains that we have at present; He didn't even try to scowl or to look like the part.

Iago as a villain was continually pleasant, And never gave the notion that he had a stony heart.

Oth.e.l.lo was his victim--and Iago's work was good, But still Iago doesn't seem to get the proper praise; Oth.e.l.lo, as the hero--as all proper heroes should-- Stood calmly in the spotlight and corralled the wreathing bays.

Since then there is no villain of the art of good Iago-- At least we haven't seen an actor who approached him yet; The villains we have noticed from Galveston to Chicago Have hissed through black mustaches and have smoked the cigaret.

JONSON

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O rare Ben Jonson, you who wrote "To Celia,"

Presager of that later note, "Bedelia,"

To you, rare Ben, our hat we raise For all your poems and your plays.

You knew, forsooth, if Shakespeare's work Was taken, Like copies by a scrawling clerk, From Bacon; You would have known of that flimflam Without a hidden cryptogram.

O rare Ben Jonson, with your pen You labored, And with brave lords and gentlemen You neighbored-- You never turned out feeble farce In sentences that would not pa.r.s.e.

To managers you ne'er were made To grovel, And, Ben, you never called a spade A shovel-- Where you wrote sentences risque We now have costumes very gay.

O rare Ben Jonson, when you asked That lady To drink, her name you never masked As "Sadie,"

Nor did you call her "Creole Belle"

Or half the song names we might tell.

"Drink to me only with thine eyes!"

Your sighing Showed you no steins of any size Were buying.

But from the way the stanzas run, You, rare Ben Jonson, were well done.

KIDD

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Oh, William Kidd was a pirate bold, Yo ho, my lads, yo ho!

He sailed the seas in search of gold, Yo ho, my lads, yo ho!

He sailed on both sides of the line, The skull and bones he made his sign; Where he found wealth, he said: "That's mine!"

Three centuries ago.

Oh, William Kidd was a pirate bad, Three centuries ago, A very dark repute he had-- Yo ho, my lads, yo ho!

He'd board a s.h.i.+p and take its h.o.a.rd, Then: "Walk the plank!" he fiercely roared, "The s.h.i.+p is all that I can board,"

Yo ho, my lads, yo ho!

Oh, William Kidd was a pirate great, Yo ho, my lads, yo ho!

He said: "I'll rob you while you wait"-- Three centuries ago.

He had a long, low, rakish craft With Long Toms both before and aft, And wickedly and loud he laughed, Yo ho, my lads, yo ho!

Oh, William Kidd was a pirate big, Yo ho, my lads, yo ho!

He feared no frigate, bark or brig, Yo ho, my lads, yo ho!

And while his grim flag flapped and tossed Above the s.h.i.+p that Bill Kidd bossed, His victims knew just how they lost, Three centuries ago.

Oh, William Kidd was a pirate then, Three centuries ago.

If he should come to life again-- Yo ho, my lads, yo ho!

The chances are that he would just Go out and organize a trust-- He knew the way to raise the dust Three centuries ago.

LUCULLUS

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Lucullus was a fighter for a portion of his life; He won the bay and laurel by his prowess in the strife.

He came back home a hero (and no doubt, just as today, They named a c.o.c.ktail for him ere they looked the other way).

But when Lucullus noticed he was losing grips on fame, He struck a happy notion to perpetuate his name.

He took to giving dinners in a palace he had built-- 'Tis said that lots was eaten and a sea of wine was spilt; That guests might order anything in dishes old or new And get the very rarest, and a second order, too!

Quick lunches or course dinners--anything a man could wish In the line of drinks or dainties; yet he was no _nouveau riche_.

Lucullus won great battles, victories that he might boast, Yet today we recollect him merely as a lavish host.

It is said that once he ordered quite the richest feast prepared But no guests came to enjoy it, and the busy chef was scared.

"Is n.o.body here for dinner?" asked the fl.u.s.tered, pestered chef.

"I am dining with Lucullus!" roared Lucullus. "Are you deaf?"

But we think that one great reason for his never-dying fame, For the pure, unfading l.u.s.ter of his dinner-eating name, Is that though Lucullus feasted at a very great expense And sat down to simple breakfasts where the health foods were immense, He was gracious to his fellows, was considerate of each, And he never put his chestnuts in an after-dinner speech.

METHUSELAH

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