A BALLAD OF MISFITS

With skill for doing this or that

The Lord each man endows.

Some men are best for pushing pens,

And some for pushing plows;

And oh, the many many more

That should be tending cows!

Chacun son métier:

Les vaches bien gardées.

The ivory-headed serving maid

Who poses as a “cook,”

She hath a very bovine brain,

She hath a bovine look.

Oh, prithee, lead her to the kine,

Oh, prithee get the hook!

Chacun son métier:

Les vaches bien gardées.

The papering-and-painting gents

Whose work is never done,

Who mess around your house until

You pine to pull a gun,

Who take three mortal days to do

What should be done in one;—

Chacun son métier:

Les vaches bien gardées.

The pestilential “pianiste,”

The screechy singer too,

The writer of the stupid book

And of the dull review,

The actor who is greatest when

He takes his exit cue;—

Chacun son métier:

Les vaches bien gardées.

If every one were set to do

The task for which he's fit,

The writer of these trifling lines

Might also have to quit.

At tending cows the undersigned

Might make an awful hit.

Chacun son métier:

Les vaches bien gardées.