You're a critic in your attic up above the dust and din,
1.5On an essay you're in duty bound to do;
When your sanctum opens softly and a sonneteer comes in,
1.5Who was never any good, to you.
But the poet smiles serenely while you're stifling a moan,
For he wants your honest judgment on an effort of his own;
When you tell him that it's rotten and the sonneteer is gone—
1.5Is it really any good, to you?
3.5Were you ever any good, to him, William?
5Was he ever any good to you?
3.5Could you help him if you would,
3.5Would you scalp him if you could—
5Is he really any good, to you?
You're a Beauty, by the Bard and by the Belted Hero wooed,
1.5Doing nothing, for you've nothing else to do.
Or, perhaps, you're pouring Pink Tea for a pink-a-doodle-dude
1.5Who was never any good, to you.
When you listen to his lyric of the diamond in the skies.
With a glimmer that is dimmer than the shimmer of your eyes;
When he tells you where his treasure lies, and other little lies—
1.5Is he really any good, to you?
3.5Was he ever any good, to you, girlie?
5He was never any good, to you.
3.5Would you lose him if you could,
3.5Could you lose him if you would,
5Is he really any good, to you?
You're a Merger, with a hundred million dollars in the bank,
1.5Up and doing till there's no one left to do.
When your ship is on the ocean, and the oil is in the tank,
1.5Is it really any good, to you?
When you're owning all that's ownable between the earth and sky,
Every four-and-twenty hours will another day go by;
But you couldn't eat a carrot lest you'd double up and die—
1.5Is it really any good, to you?
3.5It was never any good, to me, Rocky;
5Was it ever any good, to you?
3.5Could you stop it if you would,
3.5Would you stop it if you could—
5Is it really any good, to you?
You're a soldier. There's a Sultan on a lonely little isle.
1.5Doing nothing, for there's nothing else to do.
When you hail him and the Heathen comes to greet you with a smile—
1.5Is it really any good, to you?
You approach him with your Bible and your bottle and your gun,
If he doesn't hike he's High-balled and you'll shoot him if he run;
When a hundred weedless widows stand aweeping in the sun—
1.5Are they really any good, to you?
3.5Were you ever any good, to him, Johnny?
5Was he ever any good, to you?
3.5You could win him if he would,
3.5You would skin him if you could,—
5For he isn't any good, to you.