CONSOLATION



I sliced a brassy-shot at Rye,
And killed a luckless passer-by.
The ball rebounded off his head
And, landing on the green, lay dead.
His widow it must much console
To know 'twas thus I won the hole.



PRESENCE OF MIND

When, with my little daughter Blanche,
I climbed the Alps, last summer,
I saw a dreadful avalanche
About to overcome her;
And, as it swept her down the slope,
I vaguely wondered whether
I should be wise to cut the rope
That held us twain together.

I must confess I'm glad I did,
But still I miss the child — poor kid!



DISCIPLINE

To Percival, my youngest son,
Who cut his sister's throat, for fun,
I said: "Now, Percy! Manners, please!
You really mustn't be a tease!
I shall refuse, another time,
To take you to the Pantomime!"



CARELESSNESS

A window-cleaner in our street
Who fell (five storeys) at my feet
Impaled himself on my umbrella.
I said: "Come, come, you careless fella!
If my umbrella had been shut
You might have landed on my nut!"



QUITE FUN

My son Augustus, in the street, one day,
Was feeling quite exceptionally merry.
A stranger asked him: "Can you show me, pray,
The quickest way to Brompton Cemetery?"
"The quickest way? You bet I can!" said Gus,
And pushed the fellow underneath a bus.

Whatever people say about my son,
He does enjoy his little bit of fun.