Good-By Bill

Dollar Bill, that I've held so tight
Ever since payday, a week ago,
Shall I purchase with you tonight
A pair of seats at the vaudeville show?
(Hark! A voice from the easy chair:
"Look at his shoes! We must buy a pair.")

Dollar Bill, from the wreckage saved,
Tell me, how shall I squander you?
Shall I be shined, shampooed and shaved,
Singed and trimmed 'round the edges, too?
(Hark! A voice from the easy chair:
"He hasn't a romper that's fit to wear.")

Dollar Bill, that I cherished so,
Think of the cigarettes you'd buy,
Turkish ones, with a kick, you know;
Makin's eventually tire a guy.
(Hark! A voice from the easy chair:
"Look at those stockings! Just one big tear!")

Dollar Bill, it is time to part.
What do I care for a vaudeville show?
I'll shave myself and look just as smart.
Makin's aren't so bad, you know.
Dollar Bill, we must say good-by;
There on the floor is the Reason Why.

Ringgold Wilmer Lardner

Ringgold Wilmer 'Ring' Lardner was an American sports columnist and short story writer best known for his satirical takes on sports figures and the cultural mores of the Jazz Age. Born on March 6, 1885, in Niles, Michigan, he began his career as a journalist but soon gained fame for his humorous and poignant short stories. His works often featured the American slang vernacular and painted an evocative picture of early 20th-century American life. Lardner passed away on September 25, 1933.

Ringgold Wilmer Lardner

His Favorite Role

Ringgold Wilmer Lardner, Simple Poetry

Guess Again

Ringgold Wilmer Lardner, Simple Poetry

Declaration Of Independence

Ringgold Wilmer Lardner, Simple Poetry

His Sense Of Humor

Ringgold Wilmer Lardner, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

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In New Orleans

'Twas in the Crescent City not long ago befell
The tear-compelling incident I now propose to tell;
So come, my sweet collector friends, and listen while I sing
Unto your delectation this brief, pathetic thing--
No lyric pitched in vaunting key, but just a requiem
Of blowing twenty dollars in by nine o'clock a.m.

Let critic folk the poet's use of vulgar slang upbraid,
But, when I'm speaking by the card, I call a spade a spade;
And I, who have been touched of that same mania, myself,
Am well aware that, when it comes to parting with his pelf,
The curio collector is so blindly lost in sin
That he doesn't spend his money--he simply blows it in!

In Royal street (near Conti) there's a lovely curio-shop,
And there, one balmy, fateful morn, it was my chance to stop;

Eugene Field

Corny Bill

His old clay pipe stuck in his mouth,
His hat pushed from his brow,
His dress best fitted for the South,
I think I see him now;
And when the city streets are still,
And sleep upon me comes,
I often dream that me an' Bill
Are humpin' of our drums.

I mind the time when first I came
A stranger to the land;
And I was stumped, an' sick, an' lame
When Bill took me in hand.
Old Bill was what a chap would call
A friend in poverty,
And he was very kind to all,
And very good to me.

We'd camp beneath the lonely trees
And sit beside the blaze,
A-nursin' of our wearied knees,
A-smokin' of our clays.
Or when we'd journeyed damp an' far,
An' clouds were in the skies,
We'd camp in some old shanty bar,
And sit a-tellin' lies.

Henry Lawson

In New Orleans

'Twas in the Crescent city not long ago befell
The tear-compelling incident I now propose to tell;
So come, my sweet collector friends, and listen while I sing
Unto your delectation this brief, pathetic thing--
No lyric pitched in vaunting key, but just a requiem
Of blowing twenty dollars in by 9 o'clock a.m.

Let critic folk the poet's use of vulgar slang upbraid,
But, when I'm speaking by the card, I call a spade a spade;
And I, who have been touched of that same mania, myself,
Am well aware that, when it comes to parting with his pelf,
The curio collector is so blindly lost in sin
That he doesn't spend his money--he simply blows it in!

In Royal Street (near Conti) there's a lovely curio-shop,
And there, one balmy, fateful morn, it was my chance to stop:
To...

Eugene Field

How Betsey And I Made Up.

GIVE us your hand, Mr. Lawyer: how do you do to-day?

"GIVE US YOUR HAND, MR. LAWYER: HOW DO YOU DO TO-DAY?"

You drew up that paper--I s'pose you want your pay.
Don't cut down your figures; make it an X or a V;
For that 'ere written agreement was just the makin' of me.

Goin' home that evenin' I tell you I was blue,
Thinkin' of all my troubles, and what I was goin' to do;
And if my hosses hadn't been the steadiest team alive,
They'd 've tipped me over, certain, for I couldn't see where to drive.

No--for I was laborin' under a heavy load;
No--for I was travelin' an entirely different road;
For I was a-tracin' over the path of our lives ag'in,
And seein' where we missed the way, and where we might have been.

And many a corner we'd turned that just t...

Will Carleton

The Lovely Young Man.

        Oh the elements varied - the exquisite plan -
        That are used in constructing the lovely young man!
        His face he has easily made to possess
        The expression of nothing within to express;
        His hair is oiled glossily back of his ears,
        Atop of his head an equator appears;
        His scanty mustache has symmetrical bends,
        Is groomed with precision, and waxed at both ends;
        His darling complexion, bewitching to see,
        Is powdered the same as a lady's might be.
        And this is the dear whom the newspapers rude
        Have scornfully treated, and christened the    -    - .

        The mental equipment I'll tell, if I can,
        That Nature has given the lovely young man:
        A set of emotions cons...

William McKendree Carleton

When We First Played "Show"

Wasn't it a good time,
    Long Time Ago -
When we all were little tads
    And first played "Show"! -
When every newer day
    Wore as bright a glow
As the ones we laughed away -
    Long Time Ago!

Calf was in the back-lot;
    Clover in the red;
Bluebird in the pear-tree;
    Pigeons on the shed;
Tom a-chargin' twenty pins
    At the barn; and Dan
Spraddled out just like "The
    'Injarubber'-Man!"

Me and Bub and Rusty,
    Eck and Dunk and Sid,
'Tumblin' on the sawdust
    Like the A-rabs did;
Jamesy on the slack-rope
    In a wild retreat,
Grappling back, to start again -
    When he chalked his feet!

Wasn't Eck a wonder,
    In his stocking-tights?

Wasn't Dunk - his leaping lion -

James Whitcomb Riley