I objurgate the centipede,
A bug we do not really need.
At sleepy-time he beats a path
Straight to the bedroom or the bat
You always wallop where he’s not,

The firefly’s flame
Is something for which science has
I can think of nothing eerier
Than flying around with an unident
person’s posteerier.

People expect old men to die,
They do not really mourn old men.
Old men are different. People loo
At them with eyes that wonder when
People watch with unshocked eyes;

Bound to your bookseller, leap to
Deluge your dealer with bakshish a
Lean on the counter and never say
Wodehouse and Wooster are with us
Flourish the fish-slice, your butt

The pig, if I am not mistaken;
Supplies us sausage, ham, and baco
Let others say his heart is big—
I call it stupid of the pig.

May I join you in the doghouse, R
I wish to retire till the party’s
Since three o’clock I’ve done my
To entertain each tiny guest;
My conscience now I’ve left behin

Foreigners are people somewhere el
Natives are people at home;
If the place you’re at
Is your habitat,
You’re a foreigner, say in Rome.

One would be in less danger
From the wiles of a stranger
If one’s own kin and kith
Were more fun to be with.

Geniuses of countless nations
Have told their love for generatio
Till all their memorable phrases
Are common as goldenrod or daisies
Their girls have glimmered like th

Go hang yourself, you old M.D.!
You shall not sneer at me.
Pick up your hat and stethoscope,
Go wash your mouth with laundry so
I contemplate a joy exquisite