Black Beetles in Amber - читать онлайн бесплатно полную версию книги . Страница 116

AD CATTONUM

I know not, Mr. Catton, who you are,Nor very clearly why; but you go farTo show that you are many things besideA Chilean Consul with a tempting hide;But what they are I hardly could explainWithout afflicting you with mental pain.Your name (gods! what a name the muse to woo—Suggesting cats, and hinting kittens, too!)Points to an origin—perhaps Maltese,Perhaps Angoran—where the wicked ceaseFrom fiddling, and the animals that growThe strings that groan to the tormenting bowLive undespoiled of their insides, resignedTo give their name and nature to mankind.With Chilean birth your name but poorly tallies;The test is—Did you ever sell tamales?It matters very little, though, my boy,If you're from Chile or from Illinois;You can't, because you serve a foreign land,Spit with impunity on ours, expand,Cock-turkeywise, and strut with blind conceit,All heedless of the hearts beneath your feet,Fling falsehoods as a sower scatters grainAnd, for security, invoke disdain.Sir, there are laws that men of sense observe,No matter whence they come nor whom they serve—The laws of courtesy; and these forbidYou to malign, as recently you did,As servant of another State, a StateWherein your duties all are concentrate;Branding its Ministers as rogues—in short,Inviting cuffs as suitable retort.Chileno or American, 'tis one—Of any land a citizen, or none—If like a new Thersites here you rail,Loading with libels every western gale,You'll feel the cudgel on your scurvy humpImpinging with a salutary thump.'Twill make you civil or 'twill make you jump!