Black Beetles in Amber - читать онлайн бесплатно полную версию книги . Страница 164

AN IDLER

Who told Creed Haymond he was witty?—whoHad nothing better in this world to do?Could no greased pig's appeal to his embraceKindle his ardor for the friendly chase?Did no dead dog upon a vacant lot,Bloated and bald, or curdled in a clot,Stir his compassion and inspire his armsTo hide from human eyes its faded charms?If not to works of piety inclined,Then recreation might have claimed his mind.The harmless game that shows the feline greedTo cinch the shorts and make the market bleed[A]Is better sport than victimizing Creed;And a far livelier satisfaction comesOf knowing Simon, autocrat of thumbs.[B]If neither worthy work nor play commandThis gentleman of leisure's heart and hand,Then Mammon might his idle spirit liftBy hope of profit to some deed of thrift.Is there no cheese to pare, no flint to skin,No tin to mend, no glass to be put in,No housewife worthy of a morning visit,Her rags and sacks and bottles to solicit?Lo! the blind sow's precarious pursuitOf the aspiring oak's familiar fruit!—'Twould more advantage any man to stealThis easy victim's undefended mealThan tell Creed Haymond he has wit, and soExpose the state to his narcotic flow![Footnote A: "Pussy Wants a Corner."][Footnote B: "Simon Says Thumbs Up."]