Nero

The portrait that I seek to paint

Is of no ordinary hero,

No customary plaster saint,—

For nothing of the sort was Nero.

( He was an Emperor, but then

He had his faults like other men. )

And first, ( a foolish thing to do ),

He turned his hand to matricide,

And straight his aged mother slew,

The poor old lady promptly died!

(‘ Tis surely wrong to kill one's mother,

Since one can hardly get another. )

He was a hearty feeder too,

And onto his digestion thrust

All kinds of fatty foods, and grew

Robust — with accent on the Bust.

( “Sweets are” — I quote from memory —

“The Uses of Obesity!” )

He married twice; two ladies fair

Agreed in turn to be his wife,

To board his slender barque and share

His fate upon the stream of Life.

( Forgive me if I mention this

As being true Canoebial bliss! )

His talent on the violin

He was for ever proud of showing;

The tone that he produced was thin,

Nor could one loudly praise his “bowing;”

But persons whom he played before

Were almost sure to ask for more.

For he decreed that any who

Did not encore him or applaud,

Should be beheaded, cut in two,

Hanged, flayed alive, and sent abroad.

( So it was natural that they

Who “came to cough remained to pray.” )

He felt no sympathy for those

Who had not lots to drink and eat,

Who wore unfashionable clothes,

And strove to make the two ends meet;

( They drew no tears, “the short and sim-

Ple flannels of the Poor,” from him. )

To Christians he was far from kind,

They met with his disapprobation;

The choicest tortures he designed

For folks of their denomination.

( And all Historians insist

That he was no philanthropist. )

To lamp-posts he would oft attach

A Jew, immersed in paraffine,

Apply a patent safety match,

And smile as he surveyed the scene.

(‘ Twas possible in Rome at night

To read a book by Israelight. )

And when occurred the famous fire,

Of which some say he was the starter,

He roused the Corporation's ire

By playing Braga's “Serenata”;

(‘ Tis said that, when he changed to Handel,

The “play was hardly worth the scandal. ")

He crowned his long career at last

By one supreme and final action,

Which, after such a lurid past,

Gave universal satisfaction;

And not one poor relation cried

When he committed suicide.