Mother Goose for Grownups/The Mysterious Misapprehension Concerning a Man in Our Town

There was a man in our town, Half beggar, half rapscallion, Who, just because his eyes were brown, Was thought to be Italian: And, though with much insistence He said that people erred, And bitterly to Italy He frequently referred, The false report, as is the way Of false reports, had come to stay!

So every one who’d been to Rome By aid of Cook’s or Gaze’s, Would call upon him at home To flaunt Italian phrases. “Capite Questa lingua?” The inquiry would be: ''“Pochissimo? Benissimo!'' Vi prego, ditemi, Siete voi contento qua, Lontano dall’ Italia?”

The victim, plunged in deep disgust, Grew nervous, could not slumber; Said he, “I’m called Italian, just Because my eyes are umber, And if this persecution Is ever to be stopped, Some stern and stoic, hard, heroic Course I must adopt!” And so, to everyone’s surprise, He calmly scratched out both his eyes!

The neighbors said: “So strange a thing Might seem to be an omen. We thought his wits were wandering, But now we know they’re Roman!” And so at him by legions, By bevies, hosts, and herds, Professors, purists, tramps, and tourists Screamed Italian words. Perceiving all he’d done was vain, He scratched his eyesight in again.

You’re one thing or another, You’ll find there isn’t any way Their predudice to smother. What matter if they think you From Italy or Greece? I beg you, treasure no displeasure: Bow and hold your peace. Like Omar, underneath the bow You’ll find there’s paradise enow!
 * If your neighbors say