BRUTUS

Back in the time of Rome sublime,

There lived great Julius Caesar

Who wore the crown with haughty frown

And was a frosty geezer.

Three times, they say, upon the way

Called Lupercal, they fetched it

For him to wear, but then and there

He said they should have stretched it.

And we are told that Jule was cold

And frigid as Alaska,

Ambitious, too,— that would not do

For Cassius and Casca.

They told their friends: “It all depends

On having things to suit us.

We think that Jule is much too cool;

Let us conspire with Brutus.”

They furthermore let out this roar:

“Shall Caesar further scoff us?

Next week, they say, he'll have his way

About the Rome postoffice.”

With dirk and sword in togas stored —

You know those times they wore‘ em —

They made a muss of Ju-li-us

One morning in the Forum.

With “Et tu, Brute?” J. C. grew mute.

( Some claim it's “Et tu, Bru-te”;

We mention it both whole and split

As is our bounden duty. )

Mark Antony arose, and he

Talked some,— we shall not quote it;

We've understood‘ twas not as good

As when Bill Shakespeare wrote it.

Then Brutus skipped lest he be nipped —

And since his dissolution

He's been accused and much abused

In schools of elocution.