“Do n't Look a Gifthorse in the Mouth”

I knew a man, who lived down South;

He thought this maxim to defy;

He looked a Gifthorse in the Mouth;

The Gifthorse bit him in the Eye!

And, while the steed enjoyed his bite,

My Southern friend mislaid his sight.

Now, had this foolish man, that day,

Observed the Gifthorse in the Heel,

It might have kicked his brains away,

But that's a loss he would not feel;

Because you see ( need I explain? )

My Southern friend had got no brain.

When anyone to you presents

A poodle, or a pocketknife,

A set of Ping-pong instruments,

A banjo or a Lady-wife,

‘ Tis churlish, as I understand,

To grumble that they're second-hand.

And he who termed Ingratitude

As “worser nor a servant's tooth”

Was evidently well imbued

With all the elements of Truth;

( While he who said “Uneasy lies

The tooth that wears a crown” was wise ).

“One must be poor,” George Eliot said,

“To know the luxury of giving;”

So too one really should be dead

To realize the joy of living.

( I'd sooner be — I do n't know which —

I'd like to be alive and rich! )

This book may be a Gifthorse too,

And one you surely ought to prize;

If so, I beg you, read it through

With kindly and uncaptious eyes,

Not grumbling because this particular line does n't happen to scan,

And this one does n't rhyme!