AN APPRECIATIVE AUDIENCE

My son, I wish that it were half

As easy to extract a laugh

From grown-ups as from thee.

Then I'd go on the stage, my boy,

While Richard Carle and Eddie Foy

Burned up with jealousy.

I would n't have to rack my brain

Or lie awake all night in vain

Pursuit of brand new jokes;

Nor fear my lines were heard with groans

Of pain and sympathetic moans

From sympathetic folks.

I'd merely have to make a face,

Just twist a feature out of place,

And be the soul of wit;

Or bark, and then pretend to bite,

And, from the screams of wild delight,

Be sure I'd made a hit.