Grimm Tales Made Gay/How Beauty Contrived to Get Square with the Beast

Miss Guinevere Platt Was so beautiful that She couldn’t remember the day When one of her swains Hadn’t taken the pains To send her a mammoth bouquet. And the postman had found, On the whole of his round, That no one received such a lot Of bulky epistles As, waiting his whistles, The beautiful Guinevere got!

A significant sign That her charm was divine Was seen in society, when The chaperons sniffed With their eyebrows alift: “Whatever’s got into the men?” There was always a man Who was holding her fan, And twenty that danced in details, And a couple of mourners, Who brooded in corners, And gnawed their mustaches and nails.

John Jeremy Platt Wouldn’t stay in the flat, For his beautiful daughter he missed: When he’d taken his tub, He would hie to his club, And dally with poker or whist. At the end of a year It was perfectly clear That he’d never computed the cost, For he hadn’t a penny To settle the many Ten thousands of dollars he’d lost!

F. Ferdinand Fife Was a student of life: He was coarse, and excessively fat, With a beard like a goat’s, But he held all the notes Of ruined John Jeremy Platt! With an adamant smile That was brimming with guile, He said: “I am took with the face Of your beautiful daughter, And wed me she ought ter, To save you from utter disgrace!”

Miss Guinevere Platt Didn’t hesitate at     Her duty’s imperative call. When they looked at the bride All the chaperons cried: “She isn’t so bad, after all!” Of the desolate men There were something like ten Who took up political lives, And the flower of the flock Went and fell off a dock, And the rest married hideous wives!

But the beautiful wife Of F. Ferdinand Fife Was the wildest that ever was known: She’d grumble and glare, Till the man didn’t dare To say that his soul was his own. She sneered at his ills, And quadrupled his bills, And spent nearly twice what he earned; Her husband deserted, And frivoled, and flirted, Till Ferdinand’s reason was turned.

He repented too late, And his terrible fate Upon him so heavily sat, That he swore at the day When he sat down to play At cards with John Jeremy Platt. He was dead in a year, And the fair Guinevere In society sparkled again, While the chaperons fluttered Their fans, as they muttered: “She’s getting exceedingly plain!”

The Moral: Predicaments often are found That beautiful duty is apt to get round: But greedy extortioners better beware For dutiful beauty is apt to get square!