In Bentley's May number I read of a goose,

Whose aim in this life was to be of some use;

Now I always act on the opposite plan,

And endeavour to take the least trouble I can:

I sing at no concert, I dance at no ball,—

I'm a gentleman quite, and of no use at all!

When invited to dinner, I'd much rather starve,

Than attempt for some hungry half-dozen to carve;

And folks do exist, who, when dishes are nice,

Won't scruple to send their plates up to you twice:

All vainly for sauces on me do they call,—

I'm a gentleman quite, and of no use at all!

If ask'd for some verses an album to fill,

I don't plead want of time, but admit want of skill;

There's nothing ungentlemanlike in a dunce,

So I state the plain fact, and save trouble at once;

For, rather than write, I'd mend shoes in a stall,—

I'm a gentleman quite, and of no use at all!

When doom'd to the Opera with ladies to go,

I'm not quite so green as to play the old beau;

The fiddlers and dancers are paid to amuse,

And, to stand on their level, is what I don't choose.

When over, for footman or coach I don't bawl,—

I'm a gentleman quite, and of no use at all!

Of my club in Pall Mall I was very soon cured,

They wanted to make me a sort of a steward;

Those persons must surely have owed me a grudge,

To wish me to work as an amateur drudge.

A suggestion so horrible made my flesh crawl;

I'm a gentleman quite, and of no use at all!

I've an uncle, or nephew, or kin of some kind,

Who, to sit in St. Stephen's, once felt much inclin'd;

To his vulgar committee he added my name;

When my poor valet read it, he redden'd with shame.

With no mob from the hustings will I ever brawl,—

I'm a gentleman quite, and of no use at all!

But Death's the great leveller: every one knows

Gentility's essence is graceful repose,

And the grave yields repose that must charm e'en a Turk;

No labour or toil there, the worm does the work.

When shrouded, and coffin'd, and under a pall,

Man's a gentleman quite, he's of no use at all!