“I beg you to note,” said
a Man to a Goose,
As he plucked from her bosom the plumage
all loose,
“That pillows and cushions of feathers
and beds
As warm as maids’ hearts and as
soft as their heads,
Increase of life’s comforts the
general sum—
Which raises the standard of living.”
“Come, come,”
The Goose said, impatiently, “tell
me or cease,
How that is of any advantage to geese.”
“What, what!” said the man—“you
are very obtuse!
Consumption no profit to those who produce?
No good to accrue to Supply from a grand
Progressive expansion, all round, of Demand?
Luxurious habits no benefit bring
To those who purvey the luxurious thing?
Consider, I pray you, my friend, how the
growth
Of luxury promises—”
“Promises,” quoth
The sufferer, “what?—to
what course is it pledged
To pay me for being so often defledged?”
“Accustomed”—this
notion the plucker expressed
As he ripped out a handful of down from
her breast—
“To one kind of luxury, people soon
yearn
For others and ever for others in turn;
And the man who to-night on your feathers
will rest,
His mutton or bacon or beef to digest,
His hunger to-morrow will wish to assuage
By dining on goose with a dressing of
sage.”
VANISHED AT COCK-CROW.
“I’ve found the secret of
your charm,” I said,
Expounding with complacency
my guess.
Alas! the charm, even as I named it, fled,
For all its secret was unconsciousness.
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