Judge — May 26, 1923 — page 9: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

Jam, ore, nind sting lam, imes hout ie to ids.” iling as lo ever nce, “That sure was a lucky shot! “What was it? Spoon or niblick?” Or ither treasure ye wad contemplate.” But Omar dinna biink an e’e or raise Th’ Rubai vat o° Gawf by C.W. Myers ’ . . a ile A han’—he seemed tae be in cauldrid I DREAMED I saw Auld Omar ‘neath d. th’ tree, Then, later, when th’ shades o’ nicht \ gawf ba’ in his han’, a driver oon his kne An empty joog beside him, bronzed wi? time, Seemed tae mock at a by-gone liberty. began Tae fa’, he spoke thuswise o” ither days: “Fight centuries ago, when life was Wi wine, an’ love, frien’s, we laughed at nicht, An’ days passed fast—twas then that Is o” men shown for gude or bad afore th’ licht. A print 0” woe, forsooth, was oon his face, Th’ wine was gang, there was nane tae replace; An’ joys o” life consumed—a bitter look There was na Master Potter cad efface. Were Sae gawf, ye say, respects th’ Golden Rule, A game that thrills a mon, defir a I tried tae ‘rouse him frae his limpid state. fool; “A game o gawf,” I said, “will compen- "Tis better, then, that fools o” yesterday sate Hae gang tae whaur they cad carouse Ye muckle for th’ loss 0’ wine or frien’ an’ drool. and he looked up and saw a ball in the air straight ahead, he thought it must belong to somebody else and ducked! Well, I was born with a silver spoon in my mouth.” ’Tis true, we haed na gawf in Babylon Or Naishapur, yet atween sun an’ sun There flowed th’ potent, pungent juice ” grape That a’ may buy in open mart, or shun.” L Awakin’ frae my troubled sleep anon, I pondered ower it lang, my cup turned Envoi doun; Auld Omar read th’ stars aricht, I thocht— He kenned th’ wa’ tae live—he died a mon. al Ballades of a Dub T'd Like to Write the Book of Rules by A. N.C. Fowler Gut *s rules I frequently peruse And read of “loose impediments, But, darn it, they are never loose, The poor fish says so is that dense He hasn’t lain beneath a fence Impervious to all his tools— I know I could do better, hence I'd like to write the book of rules. Also T'd like to know the use Of making it a rank offense To touch the ball in “bent,” for who’s The guy with so much negligence To be involved with any bents? That may be true in Scottish schools But here we know the difference- Td like to write the book of rules. The rules say much of “fogs”—the deuce! If I am foggy I've the sense To try my feelings to amuse By other pastimes less intense ‘Than golf and all its elements, Though on the links I} cen fools Show inebriety’s pretense— I'd like to write the book of rules. L’Envoi Melpomene, lend sapience ‘To my new volume bound in gules Which I shall sell for thirty cents— I'd like to write the book of rules, soe apEe TrisHMEN were excavating for a proposed building, when an interested spectator inquired: “How is it, Pat though you and Mike started work to- gether, he has a bigger pile of dirt than you?” “Shure.” was the diggin’ a bigger hole.” tick retort, “he’s comicbooks.com