Classic Poem

He's smart, our boarder's smart, they say,
Say he's almighty smart.
An' what's he do? Wall, what d'ye think?
A lecturer on art!
A lecturer on art! Good Lord!
An' what the deuce is art?
A mess of good-for-nothin' gush—
But our girls think he's smart.
“What's art?”I says to him one day,
“'Taint bread, nor cheese, nor meat;
'Taint pie, nor pudd'n', nor corn'-beef,
Nor nothin' fit to eat.”
An' he caved in an' owned right up
'Twarn't nothin' fit to eat.

My girls take everything he says
Without a gasp or gulp,
'Bout skulpin' marble images,
An' fools who love to skulp.
I want no skulpin's in my house,
No images for me.
“You can't eat images,” I says,
“Then what is their idee?”
“They express the ideel sense,” says he.
“But they aint corn, nor wheat,
Nor flapjacks, succotash, nor pork,
Nor nothin' fit to eat.”
I squelched him, an' he owned right up
That they warn't fit to eat.

He showed a picture t'other day
That made a monstrous hit,
A picture of a durned ol' cow
They said was exquisite.
“How much milk does your picture give?”
Says I to him one day;
An' you'd ought to seen him wiggle,
For he didn' know what to say.
“My cows give milk an' make good steak
That's mighty hard to beat;
But that ar painted cow of yourn,
Is she good steak to eat?”
He hemmed an' hawed an' squirmed, and owned
That she warn't fit to eat.

Git out with art! Stone images
An' picture filagree!
O vittles! vittles is the stuff
That suits the like of me.
Humph! art or vittles? What's your choice?
Stone images or pie?
Pictures of cows or cows themselves?—
“The cows themselves!” say I.
“Yes, Turner's pictures,” said the fool,
“Are very hard to beat.”
“Are they best baked or biled?” said I,
“An' are they fit to eat?”
An' then the fool he owned right up
That they warn't fit to eat.