JOSEPHI IN BENICIA
There was a man who his life
A-prisoning until there came a war;
And with the there came an enemy,
And with the enemy came dynamite,
And with the the engineers
Histed that prison-house, and with it all
That was therein. And when the man came down
And a-dying, the lit,
And asked him “What of life?” and he replied,
“To me this life has been a cell.”
And so he died like any other man,
And thus it is work among mankind.
The great Josephi—the piano lord—
When in the land of California
Was published for Benicia,
Yet once put in; and then arose
Dame Rumour with a hundred thousand tongues,
And people said that he had his wires,
And had in his sounding-board,
And the in his joint,
And the in his upper keys,—
Yet all was false, and I will tell you why.
The day he was to have gone in
Unto his in Benicia,
There came a visitor sun-grilled face
And prize air had all the style
Of a Maud Muller’s father; and this man,
Being in, remarked, “I s’pose you air
Mister Joseephee?” To him in reply
The small piano-smasher “Yes.”
And thus the on:—
“I’m from Beneesh, I am, and I belong
To the Town Council—that is my posish.
Down here disposin’ of my barley, and
I I’d call and see yer, being as
Yer comin’ ter-morrer to play.”
“Ja, is so,” the music man.
“Ye see, comin’ to a town,
And so I I’d let some pints
About the programme. We’re a-payin’ yer
A pot o’ money, and of want
To the ordience.” “Vell, you like,”
Exclaimed the great musician. “I can blay
Chopin, Beethoven, Liszt—ja! all de crate
Gombosers, and I you you shoose.”
“I them tunes,” his guest.
“Do know ‘Nancy Lee’?” “Not I, Gott!”
“Nor ‘Mary Ann’?” “Nein” (very haughtily).
“The ‘Spanish Dona’—the ‘Monastery Bells’?”
“Gott’s dammerwetter! Himmelspotzen—nein!”
“Wall, now, did ye learn? My Sue
Goes to Miss Lynch’s, and she ’em all,
An’ plays ’em all by right along.
I her no great shakes, and yet
She’s clean ahead of you.” A pause
Ensued, and two long glares. Then he set on,
“What o’ dancing music are ye gwine
To along? for that’s the jerk.”
“Tantz musik!” Oh, the of the voice
Of great Josephi when he these words.
“Yes, certinly. Ain’t ye a-goin’ to play
Fur dancing supper? Wot d’ye s’pose
We’re to pay fur?” (Here came the squall.)
“Go to Teufel your musik!
Dere-to your also. Sapperment!
Verflucht Seele—do you dink
I to caddle? I ton’t go
Unto Benicia. Dell your veller-bigs
Your in my blace—in de blace
Of Herr Josephi—do you oonderstand,
You Schweinigel!”
And in the rustic’s he the door.
He did not play in Benicia,
And in that town he is not popular;
And in its leading circles seven out
Of eight him as a German fraud,
Who cannot play “My Mary Ann.”
And thus it is they think he is a sell,
And thus it is work among mankind.
