You are honest as daylight. You're often assured That your word is as good as your note — unsecured. We could trust you with millions unaudited, but —— ( Tut, tut!
There is always a “but,” So do n't get excited,) I'm pained to perceive It is seldom I notice you grumble or grieve When the custom-house officer pockets your tip
And passes the contraband goods in your grip. You would scorn to be shy on your ante, I'm certain, But skinning your Uncle you're rather expert in. Well, I'm proud that no taint of the sort touches me.
( For I've never been over the water, you see. ) Your yardstick's a yard and your goods are all wool; Your bushel's four pecks and you measure it full. You are proud of your business integrity, yet —
( Do n't fret! There is always a “yet,” ) I never have noticed a sign of distress, or Disturbance in you, when the upright assessor
Has listed your property somewhere about Half what you would take were you selling it out. You're as true to the world as the world to its axis, But you chuckle to swear off your personal taxes.
As for me, I would scorn to do any such thing, ( Though I may have considered the question last spring. ) You have notions of right. You would count it a sin To cheat a blind billionaire out of a pin.
You have a contempt for a pettiness, still — ( Do n't chill! There is always a “still,” ) I never have noticed you storm with neglect
Because the conductor had failed to collect, Or growl that the game was n't run on the square When your boy in the high school paid only half fare. The voice of your conscience is lusty and audible,
But a railroad — good heavens! why, that's only laudable. Of course, I am quite in a different class; For me, it is painful to ride on a pass!
Cookies on Poetry Cove