More Misrepresentative Men

He bids farewell to Baker Street,
Though Watson clings about his knees;
He hastens to his country seat,
To spend his dotage keeping bees;
And one of them, depend upon it,
Shall find a haven in his bonnet!

But though in grief our heads are bowed,
And tears upon our cheeks are shining,
We recognise that ev'ry cloud
Conceals somewhere a silver lining;
And hear with deep congratulation
Of Watson's timely termination.

Aftword

YE Critics, who with bilious eye
Peruse my incoherent medley,
Prepared to let your arrows fly,
With cruel aim and purpose deadly,
Desist a moment, ere you spoil
The harvest of a twelvemonth's toil!

Remember, should you scent afar
The crusted jokes of days gone by,
What conscious plagiarists we are:
Molière and Seymour Hicks and I,
For, as my bearded chestnuts prove,
Je prends mon bien où je le trouve!

My wealth of wit I never waste
On Chestertonian paradox;
My humour, in the best of taste,
Like Miss Corelli's, never shocks;
For sacred things my rev'rent awe
Resembles that of Bernard Shaw.

Behold how tenderly I treat
Each victim of my pen and brain,
And should I tread upon his feet,
How lightly I leap off again;
Observe with what an airy grace
I fling my inkpot in his face!

And those who seek at Christmas time,
An inexpensive gift for Mother,
Will fine this foolish book of rhyme
As apposite as any other,
And suitable for presentation
To any poor or near relation.

To those whose intellect is small,
This work should prove a priceless treasure;
To persons who have none at all,
A never-ending fount of pleasure;
A mental stimulus or tonic
To all whose idiocy is chronic.

And you, my Readers (never mind
Which category you come under),
Will, after due reflection, find
My verse a constant source of wonder;
'Twill make you think, I dare to swear —
But what you think I do not care!