Part 2 (1/2)

IAGO

[Ill.u.s.tration]

Iago as a villain was a master of his craft, And yet he did not work at all as modern villains do; No one can rise and say that bold Iago hoa.r.s.ely laughed When some one demonstrated that his stories were untrue.

He did not swagger on the stage in evening clothes, and mutter, Nor bite his finger nails in baffled anger now and then; He never turned and left the stage with nothing else to utter Except: ”Aha! Proud beauty! I shall not be foiled again!”

Iago did not hover near the old deserted mill To hurl the daring hero in the waters of the race; He never frowned and ground his teeth and burned the hidden will Or kidnapped any children just to complicate the case.

Iago was not like the villains that we have at present; He didn't even try to scowl or to look like the part.

Iago as a villain was continually pleasant, And never gave the notion that he had a stony heart.

Oth.e.l.lo was his victim--and Iago's work was good, But still Iago doesn't seem to get the proper praise; Oth.e.l.lo, as the hero--as all proper heroes should-- Stood calmly in the spotlight and corralled the wreathing bays.

Since then there is no villain of the art of good Iago-- At least we haven't seen an actor who approached him yet; The villains we have noticed from Galveston to Chicago Have hissed through black mustaches and have smoked the cigaret.

JONSON

[Ill.u.s.tration]

O rare Ben Jonson, you who wrote ”To Celia,”

Presager of that later note, ”Bedelia,”

To you, rare Ben, our hat we raise For all your poems and your plays.

You knew, forsooth, if Shakespeare's work Was taken, Like copies by a scrawling clerk, From Bacon; You would have known of that flimflam Without a hidden cryptogram.

O rare Ben Jonson, with your pen You labored, And with brave lords and gentlemen You neighbored-- You never turned out feeble farce In sentences that would not pa.r.s.e.

To managers you ne'er were made To grovel, And, Ben, you never called a spade A shovel-- Where you wrote sentences risque We now have costumes very gay.

O rare Ben Jonson, when you asked That lady To drink, her name you never masked As ”Sadie,”

Nor did you call her ”Creole Belle”

Or half the song names we might tell.

”Drink to me only with thine eyes!”

Your sighing Showed you no steins of any size Were buying.

But from the way the stanzas run, You, rare Ben Jonson, were well done.

KIDD

[Ill.u.s.tration]

Oh, William Kidd was a pirate bold, Yo ho, my lads, yo ho!

He sailed the seas in search of gold, Yo ho, my lads, yo ho!

He sailed on both sides of the line, The skull and bones he made his sign; Where he found wealth, he said: ”That's mine!”