'Tis here the Spanish onion grows, And they eat garlic all the day, So, if you have a tender nose, 'Tis best to go the other way, Or else you may discern, at length, The fact that 'Onion is strength.'
The chestnuts flourish in this land, Quite good to eat, as you will find, For they are not, you understand, The ancient after-dinner kind That Yankees are accustomed to From Mr. Chauncey M. Depew.
The Spanish lady, by the bye, Is an alluring person who Has got a bright and flashing eye, And knows just how to use it too; It's quite a treat to see her meet The proud hidalgo on the street.
He wears a sort of soft felt hat, A dagger, and a cloak, you know, Just like the wicked villains that We met in plays of long ago, Who sneaked about with aspect glum, Remarking, 'Ha! A time will come!'
His blood, of blue cerulean hue, Runs in his veins like liquid fire, And he can be most rude if you Should rob him of his heart's desire; 'Caramba! ' he exclaims, and whack! His dagger perforates your back!
If you should care to patronise A bull-fight, as you will no doubt, You'll see a horse with blinded eyes Be very badly mauled about; By such a scene a weak inside Is sometimes rather sorely tried.
And, if the bull is full of fun, The horse is generally gored, So then they fetch another one, Or else the first one is encored; The humour of the sport, of course, Is not so patent to the horse.
_MORAL_
Be kind to ev'ry bull you meet, Remember how the creature feels; Don't wink at ladies in the street; And don't make speeches after meals; And lastly, I need not explain, If you're a horse, don't go to Spain.
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