Courtesy commends that I should
send some wreak of smile your way:
but the frank of it, dear, is frankly
austere: I don’t give a damn.

Call me curmudgeon; call me a
cur; I’ve no doubt it’s all been
uttered before—but at least,
my damn dear, I am me.

And dare I should say, there
aren’t many who play at them-
selves, who settle as same as
the name they were giv’n.

No, I think false and a cheer
are worse than the dreary old
make of me: the cantankerous
oaf, the louse, and the loaf—

yet truest e’er man at ninety and three.